Mary Christof, Queen of Hearts

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A Benevolent Brotherhood Of Men/Sarah Nyberg

“Et rursum obdormivit. Fatum reliqui mihi somnium, et calceamentis major ... in sudore.” Her smile, her laugh. The windows were closed and all life seemed to stop.

“Odi ego te...” “Cum dilectione.” “Noli dicere ... sentire fatum iam ultra hoc requiritur ad discrimen passione ...”

“Vos desidero, et vos non estis vestri mauris...” Her hands maneuvered themselves down my naked back, making me blush even harder.

“Quid agis , cum eiusdem corporis...?”

“Ego sum ​​... - sed numquam. Ego te et omnia pinguia...”

“Mihi manes homines vident. Miss poene quali invideo adversus eam.”

“Nonne scis? Dico, quod male in timore et diviserunt inter se. Sensi reus , non se habet sicut illa commentarius ... vitandum infernum volui de me. Vellem tantum habere spem, et exsufflavi illud autem insidiabatur illi: et hic est. Est suus puer molester. Quomodo enim potero sustinere ignoscis? Si omnia dimittite Deum aut idiota sum ego quaerentem longior via fuerit quoniam suus’ an quod occlusum est cor meum?!”

“Non est quod non...”

We blinked. I didn’t expect her to yank that one out again, and it made my brain race just thinking about it.

I heard them, Mary. I heard the fairies, and I heard the ancient creatures of myth. I had heard a lot of things in my time on this planet, and frankly, I just don’t understand what I’m listening to at the moment--I thought, sighing again as I listened, my feet tapping to the noise of a record player.

“Bene ... qui bene dicta fuisse obnoxia fili?”

“Non sum, sed ego nesciebam erat multiplicitate. Nunc antequam caput ad mediam orationem habere amem vox cantus ex me vel decem minuta ostende album omnes sermones meos.”

“Vos nescitis Fatales. Nesciunt ut faciam quam Teresia , sicut Hieronymus, ut Olga cuique sanctissimi fratres vestri facio.”

“Non credo. At vero eos et elevasti me et quasi...”

“Eripe te dicam ego te lactaverint vero cultu processus ... otiosum videtur quod turpe sit amet. Assuefactus ad tuum cerebrum non tamen mihi.”

Sudden whispers in the hallway...two sisters carrying wicker baskets full of laundry chattering away as they walked, a third, lankier one running after them with a wad of identical clothes.

“Dlaczego mamy znowu mówić po łacinie?”

“Księżniczka i rodzina królewska powiedział, że był nasz naturalny poród , język, że Adam i Ewa mówili jednym i tym samym powinniśmy odkryć , kim jesteśmy od mówienia tego.”

“Ég skil ekki. Frumburðarrétt tungumál ? Hver segir að ég get ekki talað móðir Icelandic ? Adam og Eva mín talaði latínu ? Hvað álag af skít!”

“Lepiej nie mówić teraz. Matka może być słuchanie... chłopak, jestem zmęczony!”

“Lauandi ponendum reportabant ad locum suum!”

After noting their existence (and dismissing Gerda’s outburst) I had decided to once again mumble to her under my breath.

“Et si sponsa sum , ut certe adhuc visitas? Est profecto got raptus in Apocalypsi Noverit universitas vestra quod in alio Sacra Regia versa erat in canem et...”


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