exiledlustrous

Gather, gather. Gather o ye children, it's that time of the year, when troubles grow weary, and the moments grow dear. The season of witches and bears has long vanished under the clouds, as the snow dances up and about. The songs grow gentle now, the mead flows easy now, as smiles gaze trough a maze! Once more; It's that time of the year, when winds grow stronger and the nights grow longer, (ooh) the merry sent of sacrament. Gather o ye children, come out and play, with music and laughter there can be no decay! Feast and joyce trough the night, let the time slip out of sight. Thank the gods for their choice so be m