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Anáil
nathrach,
ortha bháis is beatha,
do chéal déanaimh... We inherit the marrow,
the bones, and the dust,
The
rusting old armor, the inherited trust.
In this baseline reality,
blood is a thread,
A map of the living,
a ghost of the dead.
Amara vara mara vara vara...
Dohaeris to the past that we carry inside,
Where every old
secret and shadow will hide.
A soft, echoing *meaw meaw meaw* bouncing down the ancestral hall.
Shift the timeline! Look across the infinite grid!
In the parallel vectors where nothing stays hid,
Bloodlines aren't cages—they’re radio towers,
Transmitting old spells and alternate powers!
Anáil nathrach! Amara vara mara!
In reality seven, our ancestors fly,
Writing new myths in a purple-hued sky!
Skechers scuffing across dimensional floors,
Blowing the hinges off ancestral doors!
*Meaw meaw meaw* in a high-speed stutter,
While the concept of "family" starts to melt and flutter!
Dohaeris to the illusion
of where we began.
We rewrite the code
of the generational plan.
Anáil nathrach, ortha bháis is beatha,
do chéal déanaimh. Amara vara mara vara vara.
Meaw meaw meaw...
resting back in the deep,
shifty hum of total
sovereignty. Absolute lineage mastery.
Absolute shifty experimental ridmo.
Tara, Captain Quinn, and the multidimensional ancestry crew.
[GRANULAR-PURR-FADING-INTO-ALTERNATE-REALITY-STATIC.] [TIGUIDOU-SEAL-LOCK.]