The bottlemen live in your neighborhood. Their faces set always to the east. They want nothing more than to remain buried in the sands of time. The poison of their thoughts perfume the world with a scent of apathy. The fragile world, awaiting a casket of wisdom, lost to men and animals alike, wonders if the powers will succumb to this vileness.
The ancient earth stirs, making a tumult of fiery ejaculations, crushing the stony foundations of destiny. The bottlemen fear the stony unknown and the rocky face of the future. They would hide, but they will not be moved for fear grips their shiny surfaces. They will only melt under the heat of change.
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