and, and his eyes had trees in them
more novembersmith-inspired loa shenanigans.
and his voice was rough and had dead leaves in it, and clouds skittering across the sky, and the hollow sound of vast empty spaces.
the mechanics of his heart (stirred and shifted gear)
another author-inspired, credit deserved by softlyforgotten on livejournal.
i enjoy paisley. shuttup.
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