An even number to fit in the Masque held in the House made of Straw;
where a lonely ghost has dressed himself as a restless poltergeist,
just for a hint from the cosmos, the right time to put to what little spark he has left to the flint.
The wrong number,
from the littlest torch in Salem.
Last edited by Sansa Stark; 04-30-2013 at 11:59 AM.
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