Betwixt the Zanthoxylum and pinnate lies a furrow of quarrvomit. Quarrvomit that I cup within my hands, and raise above my head. As it drips down upon me, I realized the citrusy aroma can not mask the visuals. Numbed by the sight of Funiculus. The Marwiy Harken has diminished. Diminished in a way that the Elder and I have come to embrace.