Villainess’s Sweet Everyday

I keep drawing mares on Concri. Then the circle glowed and cut off, and the concretion of the area fell. Oh, I don't know what's going on, waking up to special abilities? From there, I glance downstairs and an old man is dancing watching TV. Sounds like fun. Most importantly, it doesn't sound like a stalker. When I hooked it up with my hand and then pulled it, it was back on track. Magic. Trial and error it in the air. Then the portions drawn fell to a puffy loss of gravity. Oh, my God. I don't know. It's a paranoid explosion.

Only time flies by. Like a cloud going through the sky. Just somehow, at random, with half the play. Of course, there are some owners of high-minded minds who are desperately trying to survive, that's right. But I don't have to. I resent the grey conch with my eyes. It's a place of remorse, because I've thought of it that way, and it's a place of remorse, because it's more meaningful to have an unspeakable hard conch than the self.