A Bell Cannot be Unrung
Through days like stone and nights like forgotten waters, I walk upon this sacred bridge of my ancestors smooth, white bones. The bridge dissolves behind me with the void of the abyss nipping at my heels with each step forward as if Source Itself pushes me irrevocably toward an unknown destination. The Thing that I am become is hollow but strong, bell-metal, meant to be wrung. The vibrations obliterate flesh and blood leaving only the deep, solid resonance of this hollow, metal bell ringing and ringing and ringing
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