( She wants for all thirteen heartbeats, until the snake wraps sweet around her neck and settles once more, and she sighs into the anchoring weight of its fixture.

For a woman deprived of her eyes, she seems to still take her joy from the scenery, catching scents and shift of wind, thin smile blooming with their transition. )

Our kind... only appeared when brother Sanwon last wept. ( And eruptions are ugly things, burdened by body counts. ) They believe, we rose because their brothers, their sisters, they all perished.