Dorian, are you the one adding all the spices to our food? Of course I am. Why? Because frankly the food here tastes like poorly cooked sawdust. It genuinely tastes how Solas looks.
Dorian, are you the one adding all the spices to our food? Of course I am. Why? Because frankly the food here tastes like poorly cooked sawdust. It genuinely tastes how Solas looks.
Dorian, are you the one adding all the spices to our food? Of course I am. Why? Because frankly the food here tastes like poorly cooked sawdust. It genuinely tastes how Solas looks.
Dorian, are you the one adding all the spices to our food? Of course I am. Why? Because frankly the food here tastes like poorly cooked sawdust. It genuinely tastes how Solas looks.
What is a poet? An unhappy person who hides deep anguish in his heart, but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry pass through them, it sounds like lovely music. — Søren Kierkegaard, Philosopher & Theologian
