"Wait, you spoke with my uncle?"
As if my life were shaven
And fitted to a frame
And could not breathe without a key
And ‘twas like Midnight, some —
When everything that ticked — has stopped —
And Space stares all around —
Or Grisly frosts—first Autumn morns Repeal the Beating Ground —
But, most, like Chaos — Stopless — cool—
Without a Chance, or Spar —
Or even a Report of Land —
To justify — Despair
— Emily Dickinson
Whoopsie, turns out that Ariel was one of the old-school, prince-drowning mermaids. Sorry, Eric!
I don’t know how to feel about th-JUST KIDDING THIS IS FUCKING RAD