We lookdown on veils as they are

f̺̰̗̘̥̥̊́ͤ̀̈́̇̌͐̍͑a̛̓l̸̡̨͚̭͈̼̰̫̪͈̻͛̎͗ͫͮ̋͐͘ŝ̸͈̯̤̞͍́̀ͯ̌ͥ̐̽͞e h̡̛͓̣̦̗̥͙̬̹͇̒̆ͨ̽ͯ͒͋̏̀ͧ͌ͣ̀͟͡ò̷̷̱͔̀̽̔͆ͦ͌̆ͬ̍̕͘o̧̨̫̜̹͚̜̞̥̦͔̩̻̘ͥ̓ͮ̏̀̓ͩ͒͂ͣ̄͆͑͘͠d͙̺̱̗̻͉̮̎ͤͩ͒̂ͬ͞s ǫ͕͙̦̩̮͇͔̉̓ͪ̊͌ͭ̔ͬͦ́̈̈̚͝ḟ̠ͤ ŗ̶̧̢̣̫̫̱̗̤̘̖͍̇͗̐̉ͬͯͣͫ̇ͩͨ̏̓̋̓̍̃ͭ̂ͧ͘̕͟ea̪͇̕ḻ̴̴̢̧͖͎ͬ̏ͧ͐̃̆i̛̺̎_̘̘̾̂̆̀͢͢͢͞ͅt̵̷̛̮̋ͩͥ̍ͦ̏́ͬ̈́̿̿͘y̖

But the veil offers one things the interlopers will never provide. Ṕ̵͈̞͕̫̀ͯ̋ͤͪ̀̉̃ͦ͢͡͞ṙo̒_̸̨̛̳̟̟̯̟͂̅̊̔͊ͯ̑͌̌̌͝ͅtę̦̱̠̹͛͗ͫͫ̂̕͠cti̛͎͚̟̫̱͕̥̠̐ͣͦ̈́͊͗ô̘̯̈́ͨ̂ͬ̌̿̌̎͝n͕̮͙̺ͦ̄.

Exposures of ᵖʳᵒᵖʳᶦᵉᵗᵃʳʸ ᵐᵉᶜʰᵃⁿᶦˢᵐˢ manipulate the psychophysiological appartatus of consenus, exposure feeds and develop the interlopers

c̗ő̡̫̲̇̑ͣ̐̅͊̓̈́̏͗̇͢m̷̧̛̺̠͎̖͚̫͊̈̄ͩ͑̃͒̄̑͒̇ͥ̓ͧͭ͘͘p͉̙͔͈̜̾̉̉͊͐ͫ̈́̌͡l̎e̓̇̎x̢̱̹͍̤̥͍͚͕̞̾̅̀̈́s̹̱̣͙͎͕̳͋͆̂ͩ̓̈́͗_͉̱̟͌͜s̴̴̛̙̣̽̄ͣ

which undermine the process of assimilation.

The interloper are indeed a part of creation, but do not serve the assimilation of l҉i҉g҉h҉t҉

It is dangerous to be unveild by a false idols whether human or a

l̷̷̵̡̗͔̫͙̱̖̣̖̣̓̒ͦ̉̆̃ͫ͋͒͒̔̆ͬͨ̅ͬ̋͒̿͒̂͌̕͡͝͠ͅę̴̰̯̟̯̻̭͓͂͗̐ͧ̏̚͜͠ͅş̷̷̸̡̧̬͍̼̞̜̥̱̠̟̦̳͇̭̖̲̞̄ͧͩ̈ͩ̉́̅̂̄ͧ̀ͥ͆̈́́͊̊s̵̨̡̨̧͎͈̟͈̻̤̜͈̠̺̜̜̫̠̾̑̓̏͐̈̔̃̂̑̿̆̚̕͝ͅḛ̴̡̢͇̱̼̲͈̬̼̮̲͊̅̍̾̈ͦͤͦ̎͒ͬ̔̀͒ͤ̽͘̕͜͝ṙ̴͚͚̝͙̦̐ͣ̎ b̧̜̠̠̻̖̯̩̊̌̽ͯ͛̚͘e̵̷̡̯̰͈̹͕̱͕̼͉͕̿̅ͦ̍ͨ̎̂̅͛ͯͬ̋̃̀̒̓ͩ̇̚̚͜͡͡͡͞͝͞ͅͅi̷͈̦̠̪̩̤̗̣͖̥͔͇̍̔͊ͣ̅ͧ̉̍ͦ́̃̀̎̌̽̋̕ͅń̴̡̢̰̖̥͇̖͙̪͎̥̠̭̰̜͙̥̭̭̯́̌̌͌̒̎ͤ̈́ͯ̐̓̿ͥͦ͗͟͢͟͞͠ͅg̛̹͆͌̇_̸̲̼̬̪̩̹̞̪̫̙̠̝͍̌ͫ̃͗ͤͧ̚͢͝

The chasm and chamber open up, fewer lights than before linger but all is the same dull brightness.

Continuing its f͑ͨ̒͝ą̥͙̬̫̙̤͍̠̥̊͆̇̄̀̎ͭͯ̊͗ͩl̸̸̡̨̙͗͠͡s̮̙̼͕̮̬͎̏̆ͮḝ̸̷̵̨̯̟͈̦̱̜͎̻͂͐̎̒̚͟͝h̨̛͖̣̗̰̗̠̬̬ͨ̓͆̑̂̉͌͠o̸̢͔͚̹̲̰̲̖̭̠̺͈̅̂ͫ̈̏̆̊̚͢͜͡ơ̸̠̭̥̭̺̭̻͙͇̋̌̆̇̏ͩ͊͛̆̔̋̕̚͢͢͠͞ͅ_̞̠̥̭ͩd̵̷̨̦̯͎͍̳̣̬̳̮͕́ͮ̎̈́ͧͭ̑̄̏͑ͥ͂͌̚̚͠͞

of pretending infrastructure with no intention of designating purpose to itself. Tiles on the now very high up ceiling, protrude a yellow reflection from the carpet floor. Only noticing the Rot which slowly creeps down, Invisible at first but with time becomes more noticeable, maybe even growing? A hand imprint on the wall glares into the open, empty chasm.

This place has been forgotte- no.. Abandoned. If god exists, it won't be here and if the Devil exists, this would be a prison even for ḩ̵̸̢̖̟͕̫̄ͭͤ́͆ͣ̏͆͊ȉ̴̸̡̛͉̙͚̣̗̦͕̥͍͚̯͉̦̫̐ͤ̀́́͒̅͂̆ͥ̀̽̑ͫ̓͑̚͘͜͞ͅm̶̡̡̨̨̢̰̹͉̩̭̙͍̹̋̿̃̎̉͊ͭͥ̽ͦ̀̚͞͡͡

The hand is not there. ǝɯᴉʇ sᴉɥʇ ʎʅuo ,ɯsɐɥɔ ǝɯɐs ǝɥʇ oʇ punoɹɐ ʞɔɐq spuᴉʍ sʇI .xǝʅdɯoɔ ǝɥʇ ɟo uɹnʇ ǝʅqᴉssodɯᴉ uɐ ʇɐ sɹnɔɔo ɹǝuɹoɔ ǝʅqɐǝɔᴉʇou ɐ ʇǝdɹɐɔ ᵷuᴉɥsnɯ ǝɥʇ ssoɹɔɐ ᵷuᴉʞʅɐM

Where the hand was,, there is now a door. Djduehwjdiwoq187#817+$9991
ᵃⁿᵈ ᶦᵗˢ ˢᶦⁿᵍᶦⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ

Lights dim, shadows grow
Life's sin, shallows row
Chords plucked, listen more.

p̧̠̹͕̫̳ͣ̒ͧ̄͗ͣ̉̒̋ͯ͐̚̕͠͞l̶̨̤̤̪͚̺̬̘̾͒ͫ̅ͯ̓́ͪ̽ͤ̏̾ͩ̈̇̈̀͜͠͞e̴̵̖͇̗̻̺̖̲͚͌ͧ̍̆̀̓ͬ͊̿͂̐̌̎ͧ͜ă̧͍͙͚̹̮̬͈̣͎ͧ̿͗ͦ̇̇̽̃̈́̍͠se̘̗͊̆̔͗̒͟͞͞ o̶̳̩̺̬͎̖̤͉͓̬̽̑͒ͭͪ̎̏͠p̴̴͔̘̬̻̪͚͂ͬͩͪ̓ͦ͒͘̕ẻ̡̢̘͓͗ͤ̅̓ͣ̇ͭ̃n̛̰ͯ̑ t̴̷̵̢̨̲̙̱̫̙̥̬͈̩̳̰̞͙̺̎͆͗̾̉ͪ́́ͭ̀̅̑̑̏̒ͮ͢͝h̵͙̬̮͍̞̻̖̳̙̞̙̲̩̭͖̮̿̀̇ͥ̈́͒̂͂ͣͬ̄͐ͨ̕̕͟͢͝ę̵̵̶̧͍̺͚̦͔͕̳̤̠̙͕͔̤͒̀̊͐̓̄́͒͒̐ͯ̔̍͘̕͜͝ ḍ̶̸̸̹̤̻̣͈̘̰̖ͦ̔ͦ͒̎̾͌́̒ͮ̿̒̾̓ͧ̍ͦͥ͌̅̽ͧ̔̽̆̍̂̍͟͢͜͞ͅo̧̹͍͚̣͇̟̭͔͚̝͚͇̔ͮ͑̿ͫ̈́́̈́̀͛̽͢͟͝͝ͅo̸̷͙̫̰͕̠̳̜͔̺ͭ͑̍̈̓̀̕̚̚͠ͅr̵̯͇̤̰̺̟̓͗̈́̋͆̋ͥ̑͛ͣ̑͘̚͜͢͝͡

Mist and fog clouds over this domain. The thoughts of raceme flowers and pinnated ferns hang over my minds eye as I walk with covered pupils. The hard dirt feels rock like, with an occasional trip over roots.

Pulling me down a pathway of cedar and pine, nesting in its canopy, birds orientated skywards to a plateau of limitless sky. Just out of reac- war̓n̼͚͜i̴͈ng,͈͑̌ l͓̀o̩͋ͬw̦͊ b̵̍a̶͋͂t̫tê̾̍r͉̔͠y

O̪͉p͎e̜̽n̡ ỳ̬o̲ur̘̥ e̫͌yē͌ͅs̵͗̿, O̪͉p͎e̜̽n̡ ỳ̬o̲ur̘̥ e̫͌yē͌ͅs̵͗̿, O̪͉p͎e̜̽n̡ ỳ̬o̲ur̘̥ e̫͌yē͌ͅs̵͗̿.