She begins to drop her pride; like thin-like straws, just as the sun gave space for her; the rain, to lay on their heads; to strum on them, in no want of symphonic, response.
I had my eyes fixed firmly on each drop she made; as it touched the ground and swept off sands into catastrophic positions.
She poured out herself
Her whips, and made sure they didn't escape a whip she would give, so she'd boast and wry at them. But they played heavily even in her growl, like it was a spawn to laughter for them.
Alas... She made trembling noises and at the end, withdrew her chariots, giving way for a brighter day and plain cloud.
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