Entombed "Where is my brother? Where is my brother? Where is my brother?!” she called to the crowd, the faces of strangers, all stranger than stranger, all milling about in a silence loud. Her answer, no answer; I stare unshunned. I stare not yet kowing our souls had been gunned. And silence and milling, the strange scent of killing, together, we wondered, we all in the room. Together we waited by Purgator’s Tomb. ”Where is my brother? I’m beautiful. Beautiful. Where is my brother?" the truth... Sign in to see full entry.
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