𖥻⨾ ❝ C̳O̳N̳Q̳U̳E̳R̳O̳R̳。❞
1 year
In my hand, I hold peace *( 𝐀 𝐆𝐔𝐍 ). With this peace, I let it sing grotesque carrion symphonies. It's for the better, I say, to lay waste beauty for the sake of the living. For what are we? Walking dead things with no memory.
Ah, yes, peace, it always needs to be reloaded.