Come into my parlour

The light of day too bright for the hunters. With night they lay in wait, amazon striped with deadly intent.

Oh so quiet…these ones who wait on gossamer threads that seem too light to hold their swollen bodies. Round and firm, would they pop like cherry tomatoes with just a little pressure? But no, they have their work. They climb and fall as they weave their beautiful traps. Frantic battle when the doomed feel the silken ties of fate.

I do feel pity but they have their work so I’ll leave them be. 


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