![Log In Log In](/branding/icons/new/encrypted.png)
Log In
Relics; dust-clad treasures
Unearthed from attic heights, their
Must like the vestige of golden years left to
Mingle at the pulpit in
A phantom congregation. Sunlit tendrils
Glint through the scrambled tint of faberge, in-
Effable and resting in the rough whilst saccharine
Scents cling like stubborn perfume; fresh-baked
Ambrosia kneaded by the
Lent hand of Heaven, descended from its
Everlasting light.