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ᛡ a troubadour’s gist & tryst. ᛡ
gavotte to the mezzanine ground.

a cruse of cashmeran attar has laid ahead of me, creeping from the solemn eventide that’s unfortunately nowhere near being warm. has the missive that an ivory-fur pigeon carried a few days ago tarried safely within your auric postbox? ‘tis an arrival to discover marvels halfway rather than futile integers, solely to those whose scope aligns with me: profile needs and writing commission. may the missive find you well, the wishes to swan around the porch are accessible still: 𝓍. @lacqueris.
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