The double-edged truth had the exoticism. The blood was in air. A blue bird draws a red line, indulging in spiritualization of a gray design. The testosterones chart the trajectory in the flame of the forest.
You deploy your army in zero hour. Colored leaves start casting the spell. You listen to the rustling of skirt. Moon was walking in.
A pink sword and sharpened claws. After the vulture hit, the death will swoop down on you suddenly.
