Aug 24, 2012

My Life as a Statue in Medusa’s Lair

by Arnold Böcklin
Great. It’s that bird again, the one that pecks at my forehead. Sometimes I dream I can move and I catch it. I wring its neck. My torment is over.

The mistress can talk to the bird. She allows it to plague me.

She is agitated today -- something about sailors.

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