Ianthina
Ogee and ovolo had evidently reached an agreement for they harangued Ianthina and Wilfrid with their booming mechanical voices.
Mired in the blood of savage traditions your make believe world conceals a profound degeneracy. When invidious cads like you oppress humanity the earth runs aground on the vast desert of the night leaving any misspelt youth crushed under the weight of their ancestors’ blindness and pacified by the same old twaddle. The snowfolk soon recovered from their injuries because Isinglass the reptile here was obliged to let them cool off. Conquest of the blue moon has come to a standstill. You’ve ruined our chances of moving this galaxy out of the evil débris that keeps us imperfect. Now you must pay for all of your thoughtlessness.
Isinglass approached them brandishing a large corkscrew and whistling softly to himself. Shrieking with terror the two outlines stopped fidgetting and darted away across the fiery surface of the sun frantically looking for a place to hide. Isinglass followed. For three days the husband and wife attempted to escape from the spotted lizard. They climbed up burning mountains. They descended into the deepest valleys of fire. Up overhead golden vultures watched as Isinglass followed doggedly until suddenly he cornered them amid the desolation of an immense field of rippling black sunspots. Covered with blisters Ianthina was crying quietly and Wilfrid was too weak to go on.
Years later in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep fragments of the dwarf’s long winded speech would return to him.
Nonconformists become inseparably connected with the obstacles to an honest living. Drifting lonely before the tide we are exposed to great suffering and persecution yet we endure this sad inhospitable farce laughing at the strange antics of our murderers. We leave their dreary tales unread. Like the yelps of a well beaten dog we write to share the pain.
The dwarf had had to be carried from the stage perspiring and groaning she’d torn up the last of her supernatural nonsense. Uneasy and anxious he had taken her stilts home and placed them in the hothouse. A thorn on the casarine tree plucked at his sleeve and he was reminded of his wife’s dying words. He pawed at the branches. Nothing. He seized the trunk and shook it—something dropped at his feet. A small jar. Prying it open Wilfrid recognized his eye lovingly preserved.
We speak to the strange and wild people that live many centuries from here life preservers brought up after the bloodshot clouds disappear when men are as gods and gone is all fear.
Time went on until one night the demoralized professor was drawn to the hothouse now fallen into decay. Fleecy clouds ambled by the moon plashing shadows into the verdant vegetation.
