An old, old elf woman, her face now lined with the passage of a millenia, thinks back on her husband, on the things she has lost, the things that can never be returned; she thinks of the human riots that took her children from her and sold them into slavery; she thinks of the nails driven into her hands and feet, she thinks of the screams of her only love. And this is her mourning. Okay. I just like her nose. Copyright me.
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