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Black Memory

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The thing that Lúthien remembered always about Morgoth was not the stench and horror of approach, disguised as monsters to traverse the realm of a monster; not the way his eyes, black as his chamber, black as his armor, black as his seared and clenching hands, yet burned so fiercely that even in her power she could not meet them long; not the panic of Angrist's betrayal and their discovery, dread long endured transforming in an instant to overwhelming fear; but rather the tortured angle of his neck, the graceless cant of his head beneath its burden of terrible brightness.