where art thou?

Oh my I must be raving mad again. Lady! Where art thou? Three writings in the span of half a day, what has become of me? What is the alienst thing that tis ravaging my very soul? Oh the flames of such torture, if only I could let it out. I’ll let them burn to hell with me if I must, truly. For there is no other way. My soul has been taken, it has been unduly ripped from its very vessel! Prithee lady! Return it to me! Do what with me if you must! But never my soul nor my heart!

I am condemned oh yes I must be. For to write such things, to write of such topics, one cannot be pure of the heart can we? I am damned, damned if you must have my soul and my heart Lady, and thoust not realise it yet, right?

Where art Salvation to be found in the midst of darkness? Where can thy Servant find a speck of Light? Spare me your preachings please! Hush hush. Now is not the time. Do not even try.

Your servant
Aristocrat


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