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SoxMa Forever Mine Ch 4Ch 4
Soul and Maka sat across from each other eating their breakfast in silence. Maka was calm on the outside but was dying of mortification on the inside. What was worse was the white-haired idiot had a permanent smirk on his face like he couldn't be more pleased with life. She felt anger well up in her chest again but felt it disappear when he caught her staring, again. She looked away quickly and hated herself for not being strong enough to stop the pink from forming in her cheeks. To her fury, instead of ignoring it like he should have, his smirk widened further and screamed self satisfaction then he returned to devouring his meal. The red in her cheeks quickly changed representation from embarrassment to rage. Rage towards her partner but more towards herself. Despite her anger being mostly directed at herself she would take the opportunity to chop Soul again for it, if it didn't mean destroying both their breakfast and the room to get to him.
How could this have happened? How did
SolaceShe never slept well in the dark,
not without the children of the sun and moon
to guide her weary lids home.
Guided by the aftermath, she was always two steps behind.
What did the world look like to the girl who had been through it all?
Braved the heaviest of storms,
yet skipping over cracks in the pavement.
They said her eyes were the wisps of clouds before the storm.
To him they were reflections of pages overlooked.
She said it was like she lived the life of someone she had never met.
Laid out to dry, yesterdays news.
He knew her as the girl who was built to never collapse.
He wished he was too.
He loved her more than words could say, and yet her pain was such,
that at times, he feared she wouldn’t make it.
But on nights like these, even when it threatened to consume her,
he became convinced that somehow she would.
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
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