My love, my love Threadpuller, architect of the summit, the ephemeral cloth, lapidary of bone, the marrow giver, our transmigration to thee has been long, arduous. Our many, now few, climbed your peaks, to ask one final time, to savor the fine bliss of vaporous wine dripped tenderly into thine divine vials, the stream from Heaven, the rivers of the Ethlesial Plane for which we will never be worthy to set our mortal eyes upon. Once more, Threadpuller…
Once more.