• Rose Thorne
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      310 months ago

      We don’t speak of the Keeblers.

      A Keebler is not born, they are chosen. They drink of the lifemilk of lesser species. If you listen closely, you can hear the screams.

      Don’t approach the Tree. Don’t fall for their deceitful delicious odors. And for the love you may have for those you leave behind, never accept a cookie.