The Seventh Trumpet (Princess pt. I)

Ah, echelon of my unfortunate understanding, you.

Your name is 'Me', regardless the shape it took that night. When you could see this ancient taking shape, a concept made flesh by the existence of two babes in conference. The uneasy boy and the curious dame quoted to wander. A wonder of the stars in the elm and tide of a splendid November night.

This last November, anyhow. The purchase made on the skin's capital to buy testimony from the way this boy's lips moved. Sad, but true, came this great and brief chat that questioned hobby of the past for several hours, that night. His honest spell.

Basically, it happened like this.

He couldn't give heed to whether he disturbed someone, or not. She had to question, because her convictions gave way to his regular knowledge of chaps wound tight. In other words, everyone had their panties up their ass. In that day, at least, you could be credited for saying such somber oath.

Yet, he had a few amends to make with an eerily malnourished mind and hands like houses that tweaked on an already bad conscience. The sleep he had lost, the sleep he needed, it was all relative to how well he was daydreaming.

In this case, very well.

He dreamt a conversation with this most beautiful of girls, one he had studied right in the same place they would end up. This study constituted he position adjacent to the same exact place they would find each other, and how it felt they were destined to meet again.

This boy is destined nowhere.