Novembers Doom. Of Sculptured Ivy And Stone Flowers. All The Beauty Twice Again. أشهر نوفمبر الموت. من اللبلاب وازهار منحوتة حجر. كل والجمال مرة أخرى مرتين.
...A moonlit breeze softly flows past the ancient night. Always calling out to the saints who hear nothing. Never to see the royality of age, and the beauty
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