Again crept something Nicene, not concrete, but this world lightened in her touch. Aloysius wandered awash with stores and stalls many abandoned in the last days of the faire. He found in measures, himself bound but not with Nicene who he greeted bewildered though she simply smiled.
They stepped the high promenade speaking truths this world interred; more read histories than selfsame memories. Nothing in them seemed live and lived but strange posited actions who's reaction arrived them here. Nicene too took another, and was mother to his child. But none of this seemed lived in nor worn. And they walk together in outsideness until reaching well worn streets.