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Weekly Contest #267
Allow no man to asunder the love we engender; bereft of the tongue which apostatized the moon, this vessel had grown no more than a squirming mass cast aloft the abyss. Yet even stripped of light, a spurned star grows apathetic to its aches of melancholy, one's lament eclipsing the interminable laughter of the skies. If one is ever remedied of agony, who was once divine must pray for their forgiveness… To balter amongst the precipice of demise, finding love amongst the maelstrom of gore; for to mend, calls for vacancy, as their apathy flouri...
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