poly_chromatic | Anonymous Text

What stern ungentle hands
Have lopp'd and hew'd
And made thy body bare
Of her two branches?

Why dost not speak to me?
Alas, a crimson river of warm blood,
Like to a bubbling fountain stirr'd with wind,
Doth rise and fall between thy rosed lips,
Coming and going with thy honey breath.
But, sure, some Tereus hath deflowered thee,
And, lest thou shouldst detect him,
Cut thy tongue and pretty fingers off.

Do not draw back, for we will mourn with thee
O, could our mourning ease thy misery!

M.O.C.

[ooc: And this kicks off the end of the plot! Thank you for everyone who has been a part of it. Body post as well as a post from Sam to come later!

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Anonymous Text

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