They say if you don't give your cloak to the poor you'll be condemned to wear it eternally and it'll weigh as much as a church tower. Daylight abyss. Only a corrupted shade will flick its' blue serpents tongue at all the flowers not yet in bloom.
Starving horrors, creatress, dreamless, sad, angry heretics wandering along the road of life as do the ghostly armies fighting battles in my forest each night.