Mist the target in thickest fog, rock the branches in howling storm and yet my arrow stays true to heart, for I am the huntress of legend. I bring the end to days of ledger, an end to owing and owed, an end to to bowing and bowed. I send word from the world beyond, I deliver the letter that brings real truth, that which renders equality both easy and obvious to all. And when the parchment touches skin, when it is absorbed into the blood, when the vision clears, you will see as I do, for there is no mist for me; neither is there wind, for this miss there is but victory.
The parchment told a story of time passing in its golden browns, and a story of timelessness in black ink, those words of loving human hearts.
The tale was told upon parchment in words so soulful that the black ink must have flowed from the heavens.
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