Order Ovate, Ice

From Fallen London Wiki
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PHOENIX (to herself): I am so very tired of flames. I will drown myself in snow and emerge in perfect serenity. Or emerge not at all.

MESSENGER: What’s that? You have no more use for flame?

PHOENIX: Oho! A visitor!

MESSENGER: A pleasure. Will you guess my name?

PHOENIX: I know you. All we things of fire do. You are the ragged messenger who carries a troth from the Sun to -

MESSENGER: -name her not! Name her not, the b___h!

PHOENIX: Aren’t we touchy! I had no idea.

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