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“Mada dha Shodrei, I do not wish to accept.” “Wish? What fig should I give for your wishes?”
Only some disasters strike. Others roll slowly, rippling in wide, lush waves, creeping unnoticed as their poison spreads. Their victims awake one dawn to find not that disaster has struck, but that it has long since crept into their pallets alongside them, nestled inside their clothes, settled itself to live upon their skin. It has dwelt unseen in their houses for days, weeks, months. They have already breathed in the disaster like air.
Love was nothing to take lightly.
“You know what they say about too much time among men. Makes you soft as a scrotum.”
“Blind and dumb as a forest of cocks.”
