Do You Know How To Waltz?

I feel like I may have posted this one before but still one of my favorite bookmark designs.

Grave digging was already a step beyond the pale of himself. But resurrection was Enoch’s domain, and further than even the Harvest Lord’s hospitality would permit him to intrude.

“Your fascination with him disgusts, his prose is so purple it’s blue.”

 He is paranoid, it’s a source of great pride to him of course, a thing carefully cultivated in the bleak pale light of his lantern, watered in the salt of the surf, and because of his pains it is a familiar, comfortable paranoia, what washes over him now is nothing of the sort, a sudden creeping sense that the little squirming thing in his coffee mug is cleverer than it’s dim false grin would make it appear that its probing intentionally, fishing for knowledge, the sinking feeling that settles on his shoulders with all the weight of sealskin, he feels wild, unaware exactly what it wants but aware that it wants, like an oyster on the verge of being pried open.

steal. I'm going to steal.