Quoted By:
This is who YOU ARE. Whatever origin they come from, souls should be thought precious. YOU ONLY GET THE ONE!
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"—— — comes from the antique ὀρθός, which means STRAIGHT. And πτερά, which means WINGS. For they take flight to the heavens in a straight, or narrow, path. Just as it is written. Or it comes from the antique as RIGHTEOUS; and WINGED THING. For they are things of --- and exact --s RIGHTEOUSNESS. Like his messengers. For they were exacted upon the --------- because of the hardness of their hearts…—— "
~ J - cob - - de Vor - - ine
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The chimneys of「THE CITY」is ashy on a Wednesday. Could you believe that it is spring? It is March and the recent rainshowers cause the air to become humid. The metropolis goes by 「ÊTRE & NÄ」, situated in the midst of the Rhine. Although most fed up with linguistics just call it the Eternal City. Or R - - E . But for all intents and purposes to a man of old, declining money: it is THE CITY.
A newspaper boy is on the sidewalk. He is hollering over the sound of carriages on the street. The stack of news are hot off the presses. Literally: the freshly stamped ink wafts as steam.
"Paper! Get your paper here!" the twelve year old squeaks, like a mouse, "Big news! Latest headlines here! 'Tour Embassy from the Chrysanthemum Throne is visiting soon!' 'CEO Molly M. Mothman launches new line of parfum!' 'Patriarch Simon the Great and his Sophia finds leads on one of his missing keyblades!' " Up and up and up. His squeaks are loud and louder.
All the boy has is high volume. His shouting is hoarse; he sounds like an automaton reading off a script—The printers did a good job today with his rehearsals.
For the extra effort he's putting in, you shed an old penny and snatch a paper.
"Thank you, sir!" squeaking, now in a brief relaxed tenor.
Seeing as you are better dressed among the public, he must have taken you for one of the finer nobles. It's sweet of him——But an out-of-fashion day dress is far from vogue. Your deer gloves are green. YELLOW is what's trending these days.
Feeling more responsibility to run his throat like a slave at 5 in the morning than to play, the newspaper boy disturbs some other members of the convening crowd. "Paper, paper, paper!" he repeats. "Paper, paper, paper!" Very well on his own he proves that the crackling of a telegram on hold CAN be lovely. It's impressive. And you can see——
—Something like that?
That's STRENGTH.
In spite of his fragility. If he keeps up his thin look, he can avoid work at the mills and keep plying shouts as for the local post.
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