the weaver of dawn, her loom splintered, greets the crescent of fire rising into the sky. the grey mist slithers between the cracks of light and shadow, revealing a world of strange shapes. the dark spire splits the chalice of ra, and the muntu shriek from every stead.
the time of names is upon us, with great profusion and confusion and infusion.

beyond names and naming, know thyself.



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