my #spidersona is Ungoliant the Everempty, born of Darkness before the world, She who devours Light, ancestor of Shelob my Last; and though Great Weaver, I am unable to spin spiderman garb capable of resisting my all-consuming hunger, and so, suitless, the Hero I never play.
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"Be Proud," the elves tell me. "It is a thing difficult to do. It takes no small soul, and no small will." They are mistaken; what soul I had, and what will, came from the Light. No longer am I Ungoliant; I am Nothing, and can offer Nothing, and can receive Nothing.
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"A year has flown," the elves sing. "The days are invisible," I croak. There are chelicerae where they seek lips. And though the Light of the sun and the moon are beyond me, other, diminished cyclings prolong. The Hunger is gone but the desire remains. The need remains.
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