“It’s looking good, lord,” the phant called. “Mind, we’ll need some strange attractors to glue it together.”
“Those can be acquired, Tranto.”
Phecda, coiled around his slender white wrist, spoke, “What will it be, lord? When it is done?”
“Why, nothing, for nothing that I make holds together.”
But as he spoke, he contemplated a seed of emerald green, the size and shape of a peach pit. Power glowed golden within its surface convolutions.
“It will be nothing at all, Phecda.”
Death laughed then and moved to join Tranto.
* * *
Chaos, Chaos,
(oh my sweet youth, sweet girl, angel of despair, lovers friends, and other toys)… Chaos, Chaos,
is satisfied.
FB2 document info
Document ID: d42f1c75-e20a-407c-a814-8158544d9fcc
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Document creation date: 9.7.2013
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