Dec 11. 2025
I wield eighteen daggers, yet they are sheathed in velvet. I have a sandpaper kiss, but a voice like a soothing hum. I am a liquid that does not flow, And though I walk with silence, I demand all attention. What am I?
Dec 11. 2025
I wield eighteen daggers, yet they are sheathed in velvet. I have a sandpaper kiss, but a voice like a soothing hum. I am a liquid that does not flow, And though I walk with silence, I demand all attention. What am I?