in to the eye for all to see
hidden words spin in time
in the outer of the space
repeat and repeat
and put in place
Fur at her feet, Death watched the current of her river Styx flow for each ripple a know.
Here there was there a certain fold in the fabric of her cloak of time
a gift from her Father a vast seeing eyeing
a voice of a harpy
to start quakes and move matter.
There she saw the truth of the deeds as the feathers landed, weighted words and deeds that were not said and hidden in sunder. Death did not mutter the lesson to the riders, they could hear the cries of the echos of their lies, their children left behind.
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