'Magpie knelt enamoured at the accolade received, kindly bestowed by a nemesis. All malevolence lay charmed mute momentarily, as he detached from the architect, cord left enveloped in the galactic plate. In the void between Elspeths and in the absence of other majuscule arbiters, a placentalia of language stammered out of the disharmony between them into a beautiful and vivid thread. The unmemorised interfix of which will haunt Elspeth Lightless in Gloss, regardless of intent, forever and she'll require colossal garments to retrieve her runes from far, far into a future world. This near-invisible and lacunal territory, the cavity in song, is the motivation for the 8-shaped lock in the first place.' 3535 x 3535 at 300dpi