Above the door a stone urn I know to be an athanor
A portent, an adornment meant as a dormant sigil
Hinting an hidden place of alchemical importance
I swore silence, secrecy when setting out to find a source for
Latent energy which courses forcibly through the veins of me
Stains of me I leave behind, removing divides via antient stele
Revealing dealinghouses where fate’s cardwinnings are counted out
Words flowing out of my fountainmouth.
Alchemisland 
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