Beneath the iron skies they stand with blood-stained hands and shifting sand. A truth etched deep within their gaze, forgiveness is not the warrior's praise. Their blades sing songs of darkened lore, each stroke a vow, each fight a roar....

August 4, 1788                                        Mon Cher D.                           I must confess......

her friends tried to warn her they said he's no good the stories they tell   paint a picture of fire and brimstone   but the way he speaks is oh so sweet they would talk for hours they...

I write all the time frustrated at all the worlds cries sometimes I wish they'd all disappear then i think... damn I'm one of those fuckers maybe I've been too harsh too standoffish but trying is also a bitch...