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Time is a nooseHeads bowed together, under a lilting sky,
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The stars glittered above,
Like shards of hope in shadows of doubt,
Their questions hung above them,
Their eyes betraying their own darkening thoughts,
But the light yeilded no answers,
Time becomes a tightening noose,
And they watch as the night tests its own mortality,
Against the blood stained tentrils of day.
WineHelena tried white wine first: the liquid wasn't quite colourful enough to qualify as a daring drink, nor was it so transparent that one might mistake it for water. When her tongue stopped arching up into the sour stream to avoid the foreign edge and could sit quietly and behave as she swallowed, Helena thought it might be time to take another glass. She did so, and she wasn't sick, and so she decided the time was right to try rosé. She wasn't sick after that, either, and after congratulating herself on her constitution, she reached for the red.
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After she had thoroughly customised her velvet skirt with three bottles' worth of liquid and an artful rearrangement of dinner, Helena threw herself into a chair in the corner of the library and fervently promised Byron she'd never drink again. She remembered being told, somewhere, that glass could cut your hands if you weren't careful with it; she sucked her finger pre-emptively, to show that she was fully prepared for any injuries. Five