FITV #2, Pg. 19

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Through which path doth flow the ichor eternal?
That of witting ilk, or of restless slumber, with which its roads meet in a dance most macabre?

With what measure does one begin and it's mirror end?

That which bleeds it whom has a parasitic ravenousness guiding it's hand is no less a parasite in it's crowded cadaver.

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