Raven’s crime.

Seeing darkly, as if limousine tented mirrors serve to corrupt all beauty before it could be taken in. Tainted pleasure shaved baron, the rough and jagged cuts of a foul blade dull and rusted. 
    These lies told told most tenderly through soft voice and wicked tongue serves only to remind us of what could have manifested purely but for lament. The smothering luminescence of the sky shrouded in doubts and sloth. 
     The desolation creeps towards the horizon, sprouting agony in its wake. Winds rise, and in the bite of burning cold a single word can be heard. “More”