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hark ... (*something67+) unseen doth beckon thee, not voice but eldritch murmur stealing ‘neath thy thought 👁️🩸; prithee, set forth the chosen date, that fated incision in time, and whisper it low u-n-t-o me, that the air may grow thick, the walls bear witness, and our dread convocation be made ready

     @.circle   &  mensive date

           ∬🪝.     speak,   then:   when 
        shall     the ...    blood rejoice?


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