The lion was thinking; waiting. Like a fury, a being of vengeance it wanted nothing more than to lash out at its prey. But it wasn’t time yet; it wasn’t time. And so the beast waited and ruminated. And when the time came, like the furies of old, it was nothing more than a wild beast. It was the lion.



The Icognito Writer: In response to Letters To Euturpe 44 from Tucked Into A Corner

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