🦇 i lσve myself 🦇
《º|》 05:57 my face must be feverishly glowing like this golden temple I just now finished for You, omnipotent one. i have to say, it does look shiny and furnished!
it took me 114 days to ascend (!!!)
《|º》 my fastest {epic} quest so far [25 hoursº¤º15 minutes]: lower the high seas!
《|º》 the local zookeeper will be impressed. my 300th {epic} quest to collect two animals of every kind is done! 03/08\18 logs=17,8%
《|º》 05:05 $uddeñly nõti¢ed that m¥ experìeñçe ßår wäs empty. ₱âni¢ked for ā momeñt ßefore I réàlizēd thæt I’m ñøw lēvēl 50‽ ‹07›‘10’‹18›
My heroine has an uncertain addiction. She admires stuffing her bottomless pit of a tummy with unproportionate portions of superfoods (e.g. ¹fragrant shroom petals, ²leaves of coral dust, ³bee munched buds, ⁴lathery flakes of acid creeper e.t.c: [y∅u]-ⁿame-ît). Yep, her food intake needs some explaining.
Those lively braindead neuromedìators of hers flow in a coded stream from a to b to … N and all that scientific, clever stuff: anyway, these $upremeFood$ give an intense buzz. The sensation is, you know, just like that. Or… Nothing comparable to that Feeling (¿¡can you recollect it!?). Do I, The One Among The Only And Lonely, have to prove anyhow the truth about a systematic consumption of matrix matter? Would You recommend her painstakingly taking a tolerance break? Or some form of a praised diet? But… to be continued