And wise, waning words,: And wise, waning words, collapsing worlds of inheritance, spewed upon the platter like a little chimney ghoul cries dying in this my father's fireplace...need to free these ghosts...
I really enjoyed this piece,: I really enjoyed this piece, Pursia! It reads like a fever‑dream cabaret where chance, desire, and identity all blur together. The jester felt to me like both a trickster and a mirror, showing how easily we gamble with parts of ourselves without realizing it. That final image of holding only an “empty ticket” really stuck with me, hauntingly, but beautifully done. Thanks for sharing such a vivid, unsettling vision.
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