The apple is cold, crisp, and sour as the juices fill your mouth. As you consume the fruit, you glimpse, for a moment, a massive, shadowy figure, Her snow-white hair framing a perfect, icy-eyed visage. Beneath you, a vast, perfect web of silken strands lies - and, for a moment, you realize that you too are part of it, weaver and strand both - and home.
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Tonight amidst the mountaintops
And endless starless night
Singing how the wind was lost
Before an earthly flight
Tonight amidst the mountaintops
And endless starless night
Singing how the wind was lost
Before an earthly flight