"From the darkness, sleeping light." Formerly luminus dormiens. Lux pacis, light of peace.

Quote: "Sometimes I think the surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe is that none of it has tried to contact us." --Bill Watterson, cartoonist, Calvin and Hobbes


Part 3 of 3 is coming, sorry for not posting for the last several days but the computer crashed (again). Seriously, I'm not sure what's wrong. (frowning)

He just laid there, splayed. I had the sense of autumn, with all its fallen leaves of gold, red, yellow, and other colorful hues. I am too cold. There I saw in his eyes multitudinous fires, recalcitrant to my winter. I urged him from my bed, but with protean charisma, he instead drew me in. I was trapped. He is an enveloping all, and I am just the snowglobe. When I am shaken, I display the wintery scene, but I am important nothing. I am losing my will; I must resist. Even then, I feel a certain something below my navel. A pressure. And below that area, is of course, the "(@(&." It grows too big for the britches.

He smyrked. Myschyevyous Puck. "Come on, no need to be afrayd. Y'll close mi eies yf iou don't want me to look. Just put mi hands where iou want them," he sayd. Y gaped and nodded. "Y am naked. Iou are clothed onli below. If iou want, Y can touch onli iour chest, and never venture to that nether regyon untyl iou consent to dyrect my hands where iou wyll.

He closed eyes and moved to lean on his side facing me, his hands outstretched. He began humming a tune to which song I do not know.

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