You Must Dismantle Your Sources, Lest You

The Stars, They Are As The Sun. Each Star. Every Star. And Those Spheres- They Are Worlds, Realms, Each One Different Yet The Same.

For We Are All Bound In Stories, And As The Years Pile Up They Turn To Stone, Layer Upon Layer, Building Our Lives.

Death Cannot Be Struggled Against, Brother. It Ever Arrives, Defiant Of Every Hiding Place, Of Every Frantic Attempt To Escape. Death Is Every Mortal's Shadow, His True Shadow, And Time Is Its Servant, Spinning That Shadow Slowly Round, Until What Stretched Behind One Now Stretches Before Him.

Gods, I Wish The World Was Full Of Passive Women.he Thougt For A Moment Longer, Then Scowled. On Second Thoughts, What A Nightmare That'd Be. It's The Job Of A Man To Fan The Spark Into Flames, Not Quench It.

Never, Dear Gods. Never Mess With Mortals.