For your reading pleasure, Tempest presents yet another exquisite example of romantic narrative…

The World Within the Immortal, Uncivilized Trees
by Jesus Feynmann

   Waiting alone in the study, by the fiercely-staring portrait she so loathed, with the dangerous shouts of the street hawkers wafting in from outside, Susan thought once more of the Chief’s handsome son, the bold bandito who had been so gentle in her arms. He was now, according to three independent witnesses, drinking himself to death in the company of the hateful Aloysius.
   Only in this moment of extremity could it have happened that came a flurry of activity, and she struggled in vain with her sudden panic. He was here! “Kiss me, Diaphanous One!” he stammered.
   Just then, the truth — the whole truth — slowly came home to her, and as he went down on his knees and implored her to forgive him, she vowed never again to do anything spiteful, foolish or immature.

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