When purebred meets impurebred, when impurebred meets purebred.
Under the crimson moon, next to the black rose vine, the weeping mirror wept endlessly. The tears gathered into a stream, and where did the stream go?
Snow is falling.
Blood is flowing.
Surge, pain, purple between blue and red.
The doll is wound up, click click click...
Listen, it's rusty.