It was a quiet turn, that one down the old corridor whose texture whispered of ages missed and manage mists not at all manage-ably distractions; the whispers dressed in jade silk interspersed by the warbling of time-pigeons.
At one point on the unseen highway, an anachronistic rumble of wheelethrones which were neither bubbles nor chalices, basked in inexplicable moonlight amongst argyle patterned arches, whose shade was cryptically lethal, stern, beyond arcane jokes.
The fifteenth footmark was celebrated, tokens unforeseen began to shuffle themselves. The humming statues paid no mind to pedestrian rumbles and the dapperization of clout.
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