So, there comes the rain again, my humble servant. Let us sit by the fire place and read one more time the book with the forbidden tales of magic and valor. Let us recall in our minds and souls the pagan night mist’s odor of decaying flowers, drawn by the force of the streamlets caused by the rain and drowning helplessly in a meaningless set of autumn beauty.
Let us drink from the chalice, one sip of the blood of the Gods we worshiped, loved and betrayed.
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