A long dark rifle, chambered with the nugget of a star, Is to my shoulder; and my target is Despair. White ripples in the wind. The nearby movement of a hound. I get one word to say, and I must make it count. My angel captain gives command. I breathe in deep, and fire. The twilight air conserves a mystic blue. There is no sound. A limping figure in the distance leaks a sour light. My hand is marked with powder-burns. The skin beneath is gold.
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This is so goood!! Loved it