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It's narrow beek whispered deep into my ear the night before: take an extra turn from your daily route to be freed and detached from what you dearly want to be possessed by. There he was, a slender figure of ill fate, yearning for me with his marble eyes in the abysmal sockets of his skull. I squealed briefly; my eyes took liberty and stared, my ears heard the humming sound of the Lorelei, and my tongue tasted the rancid fluid of old, barren digestion behind my parched lips. My deadwood hands felt the cold breeze dancing among the Norwegian wood, but my mind pushed my weary feet in the direction of workaday life, as it should.
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