As her wings lacerate, she thrives. A nonexistent form it is her heart, and only far away from the body said to be hers will you see her world lie. Her brains, her bones, her spirit, swiped out of what they call Didyme Adair. Her breath hitches, she begs for help. Old walls surround her, and Didyme almost feels ravaged. The walls of Royal Virtue are built heavy around her.

The date counts as Friday, January sixth, year 1890. Dusk has finally arrived; She admires from her window. Dark greenness goes as far as the eye can reach, the moon mirrors across the calming lake. The comfort and warmth of her dorm she always chooses when the weekend knocks. Students of all kinds dearly prepare for those two days of vacation, departing from the loving school to join all sorts of trouble in the heart of Edinburgh city. Night comes, and then is when someone can see whose soul is still inside the castle. A girl's beauty only exists as an extant form of a decay. They get down on her knees to pray that she will be delivered a good good man to come, and demand, for her hand in marriage. A girl's beauty will never exist as long as her lips have not tasted true love's kiss, her legs are long and bare, and her face is rosy, fair. That silky hair can be wound around his rough calloused fingers. The beauty of girlhood is being used desiring love and being pursued. Lost innocence is a beauty, a sweet tragedy, so utterly unattainable, only for those girls with their blue bell eyes and their waif-ish thighs, she is left to wonder is she even a woman at all?

In childhood she escaped the madness by living outdoors, climbing trees, searching for bugs, and leaves until she was dragged inside by her mother. She wrested their fears, gave care to their children, providing shelter for tears was her one lonely mission. She watched for the signs, and the reasons behind... There was no way out. No brighter vision. The one and only thing which alters them from punctuality is trauma.

It came upon the gentle doctor to clutch it in his palms an object so sharp that blood oozes over it's tip. Touching and clutching it he weeps tears of excess. Excess of the desire from where emerges life. Nothingness is the very excess that flows beyond being. Beyond the infinitesimal horizons of cosmic pleasure. The devil at play beyond the confines of the mind. Language the immanent trap that infinitely failed. Moving beyond the pale meditation of holy dignity. Makers emerge from the midst of haunting madness. The excess of the gods, divine excrement turns into dust. The sweet aura of the banished god- The scavenger. Books describe the very life of the gods contained with death and play. They danced across spaces, traversed beyond scope. Their bodies putrefy as stars while their excess reaches within. Within every marked desert of intoxication that grasps infinite depth. Weeping in the midst of the great gulf, the gods fade as the night. Written is that they emerge as beasts and flowers amidst the deep of the sea. The fall into madness, excess, passion and excrement. Perfume is but the odor of man turning into dust. Even the glory of the gods reflected divine excrement. Every entity an extension of another, the cosmic essence. That binds and destroys life as movement unfolds beyond reason. The essence beyond the shared catastrophe that binds life to itself. The gentle doctor watches the blood ooze from the body. Blood being the testimony of immanent frailty which traumatizes being. His tears dilute his blood as trauma sustains life. It falls into the ground and the divine fruit is born. The essence of goodness contained within the germ of madness. Madness that tantalizes the notion which shames reason. The realm of divinity where infinite wisdom dwells. It dwells in the midst of bliss- Ananda!

The God of Bliss awakens as the stench of being enters the heavens. The creator weeps as he watches the excess of heavens multiply. The object that the good doctor possesses drives him into oblivion. Never more is the world haunted by the gods. Bliss even the bliss that is found in the mountaintop. Where the last god lay and washed his feet with perfume and the milk of the divine yak nourished the heavenly nymphs. Charged with barbaric excess, paradise lay in the midst of hell. The gentle doctor returns to the womb from whence he came. Beyond the confines of trauma, desire and being. Every creature watched as he lay the world bare and naked. Never again will the gods return to plague the world. Then lie the bodies, cold, writing in pain and pleasure, leaning on love. Bodies that desire the gods of old to sustain trauma and jouissance. Where is the gentle doctor now? And there in her eyes, the beauty of the world lay. He looked at her and in an instant her eyes transformed reality. Oceans swept the depth of the horizons, stars became angels. Time turned into eternity and the darkness ebbed into nothingness. Trauma was rent apart and life was bound by divine love. He kissed her lips and as he wept, she beheld the gentle doctor. He lay dying in the depth of the traumatic vengeance.

His organs lay in the excrement of totality. His eyes gauged out, his ears rent apart, and his mouth torn asunder. His limbs were scattered, and his intestines emptied. The years of his life at an end and his body dismembered. Disseminated, the stench of the lifeless corpse filled the universe. He looked at her and it was the stench of love. He looked into the heart of darkness, and he wept. The sound of his anguish filled the halls of time and space. The pillars of paradise were torn asunder and rent Hades apart. Eternal sorrow that sustains their curiosity. And then as he beheld the futility of existence, he kissed her lips again. He closed his eyes, and he experienced the touch of the heavens in her mouth. In the infirmary his body lay among the dead, his organs burned as a sacrifice to atone for existence. Existence, trauma and excrement echo the cry of divine justice and here the body lay without its organs, and we were too sorrowful was beyond measure. They then buried his cold body under the stars in the heaven. We saw the scars from where his organs were rent asunder. "The Gods truly and diligently envy us. We are to die, they are not."

A corpse contains the testimony of death as he gathers everything to himself. Though a corpse without organs? What does it contain? Must it not contain death and trauma itself? Here his hollow body lay, and death the parasite. A parasite's life lies in the life of the organs within the body. When the organs cease of give life, the enemy perishes, and death lay dying in the grave he decayed. The gentle doctor lay in the realm of darkness forever! The blood and his tears have now produced fruit. It was its fragrance that brought life to darkness. In the darkness of the night her heart went into the grave fearing not what lay in the midst of the darkness. Wind is the master of time; She flies beyond the medium that she animates. The wind carried in her the damned fruit of blood and tears. She saw that the keeper of the dead leaves the confines of his realm. The wind blew beyond measure into the land of the living, and he kissed her in the graveyard one last time. For she was too sore to live but her eyes spoke one last time, there he saw she was not dead... He smote his foe in the deep! His fruit was now beyond the grave where they lay him. The hollow of his body is now the testimony of love and eternity. There she awakes from her dream and her heart skipped a beat. Her desire was water now beyond measure and she looked in the sky where the very excess that engulfs desire.

Didyme opens her books as to open her mind. The Boarding School allows her to hold a variety of books into her chamber, and this she acts upon daily. An alter in the ambience is when a breeze enters the fieriness of her chamber. The atmosphere outside is chilly yet solace. The climate of the first month of every year does not bring the atypical season one wished on thirty-first of December. Instead, it carries with it the old, common phase. She is folded behind dog-eared pages this is a book she has yet to finish. But before she has reached the end, she shelfs it with a bookmark that will never be revisited. Tomes of advice let alive, in the room of cares. Vehemence, instinct, attuned sighs where the powers that be, continue until fared. Are books the ears of purpose? Set in sides and meandering light. The skill of another, to share the insight of themselves. Should we enable a dance, of redoubt for might? Her door of adding, as avarice is... The truth in long glances, with method to move. Thought, the biding hope of when is, bliss. The turn of completeness, the coping hour we have of use?

Lose her in the fold... The tooth she invokes, is a creation of voice and tone, to total a resolve of guidance, of kind come for wishes to hold. The grace of unity, if not unique sense, before legend falls. To reproof, time in it is steady march to liberty, the devotion of fashion. Though a tarter end to hindsight, may be aloof. They confirm the date of simple alacrity, a host of could lasting. Be the love of a lifetime, of causes redeemed by a curious share. In the superiority of life, to know a callous friendship worth trying and the impress of duress, driven to cares we never guarantee. Unless the cold turn of truth, is towards waiting love done distress, marveling need, the common remark of persuasion. In the name of urges, we attest to passions, we grant another covenant. The decision of a soul to keep, knowing a handheld in something besides here is intrusion. A day's lot in the careful wishes they seek, for a nary come dwell. Rhapsody, in a courage's stance, the times to live and know a call. To harmony, the burden of thee, assumes patience is ours to tell...

She is a farceur in all ways described. Always to lock herself in the walls of silence, instead of existing. The constant seek of understanding in human act, all her cognition feels useless. No knowledge could compare to the divine essence of human behavior. There is no room for her in her own life. Her body cramps and contorts to fit into the narrow little space they have allotted for her to occupy, and even then, they manage to take it all up. They have barged in on every aspect of her life permitting to not feel hers anymore. Omniscient. Omnipotent. Omnipresent. This way she is not a fully formed person; She is a child cleaving to her father's hand, lest the evils of the world take her up and tempt her to sin.

What could sweet Didyme do to avoid the unavoidable? Once the game begins you see joy set up the ritual and begin the game with the demon, she then may choose to go anywhere in the house. There is the hall from the door or the stairs- Choose at your own risk. When she goes up the stairs, she starts to hear a faint cry. Much like a child's cry. It is coming from the back door; She is the only one in the house so she may choose to go into the room and see what the noise is coming from, or she may go and check the other rooms. The choices you greatly affect your outcome. The child's cry, it could be a trick. Are you so heartless as to leave someone who is crying for help? Can you ignore it for long? A child who is three years of age is at a very crucial and critical period of life and many things have an effect on them, some more than others. When choosing a nurser, there are many different theories to take into effect. Amos and Eleandra have a happy and health three-year-old girl Andra Adair. Mama needs help so; Therefore, a nurser will probably fit their needs. Amos and Eleandra explore the harsh reality of late term aborting. As one has said aborting is taking away the life of an innocent human being not only a human being but a defenseless baby. If one agrees with this or not, these are full grown babies that feel pain, cry, and bleed. They try to escape these instruments that take the lives of the babies. One could compare taking their children who are rarely spoken to, who are left to cry without parent interacts has little opportunity to explore their environment. Not all children's temperaments fall into the categories that are often described. Children who share the same temperament trait might child into adulthood, but insanity can have a much more devastating effect- Death.

"Andra!" Her mama yells and Didyme suddenly senses home. Home where she is still called by the old familiar name and speak of her in the easy way which they always used to. How did mama end up in here? She should be in the happy ending ground, alongside the Hot and Cold hand. Life means all that it never meant; It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute continuity. What is death but a negligible accident? Why should she be out of mind because she is out of sight? Aleandra is but waiting for mama, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. Death is nothing at all, it does not count. As she lies on her bed in the fetal position, her eyes are closed hoping and wishing. Maybe that one day her dreams will come true; That she does not have to be here, so down and blue. The corner keeps talking about how she is going to die. All she can do is lie there and listen.