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Screaming.
Ḩ̵̨̛͇͚̳͖̻̳͙̥̟̭̰̜̗̟̱͌̎̀͊͋͛̊͆͒̂̀͋̀̾͊̊̇͠͝o̴̡̧̡̧̢̹̦̮͎̗̦̺̤̱̩̺̰̖̹͇̭̼͖̟͓̝͈̹͍̰̞͍͚͕͙͒͒́̓̂́̉̈́͑͒̀̈́̽̈́̓͗͛́͋̃͒̔̎̾̂̑̈̈́͘̚̚͠ͅw̷̞͍̹̣͚̻̦͉̞̘̻͔̜̝͈͈̞͇͐̄̓̍̾̃̽̃̋̽̏̒͑̊̆̀͛́̎͗́͒͑͑͜ͅͅ ̶̘͈̮͇̝̪̘̿̏̓̓̔͐̔̓̏̏̀̐̓͗̐̑̊̀̌̚͘̚͜͠ċ̷̡̨̛̰͖̠̟̔͌̊̔͐͂̓̇̅͛́̄́̀̍̀̍͂̀̄̌̒͒́̓͗̈́̀͘͘͘͝͝ǫ̸̡̟̘̩͚̠̲͓̠͕̯̰̟͔̥̋̈́͒͂́͊̃͐̄͆̄́̿̎̑̿̓͌͆̕͝u̴͕͇̙̬͎̯̜̟̦̦̺͔̥̘̐̿̇͌̈́̆͋͗̇̒̈̎́͆̽͘͜͝ͅl̵̡̢̛̛̛̜̼͉̞̭̰͙̼̭̪̹̰̖̣̤̈̔̋́̑̀͐̃̐͆̓̈̂̓̆̋̾͛̍̃͛̐̄̕̚̚͜͜͝͝͝ḋ̵̨̧̡̛̺̘͔̤̼͚̯͖̲͖͙̳̞̟̱̗̺̻͔͓̻̫͉̫͎͖͚̣̘̭̘̻͇̉͋͗͒̌͒͊͌̔̽̍͋̀̇͐͋̄͐́̈͛̀̍̍̍͌̕̚͘͘͘͜ ̶̧͔̥̪̹̠̫̮̹͚̳̰̤̏͂̋͗̔̓̈́͝y̷̨̛͓̱͎̻̣̮̳͇̾͑̆̎̔̇͜o̶̡͕͖̬̜̹̰͓͔͚̙̰̗̟̠͓̘͎͇̟̯̲̭̤̱̙̠̗͍͔̖͓͚̬̎̆̌͋͊͑͒̇̇́̇͊͂̄́͜͝͠ͅų̵̟͕̬̻̖̋̔̿̊̋̐̊̋̈̐̌̾̅̆͛̍͐͘͘͘͝ ̵̡͉̬̲͔̱̻̙̼͇̻̬̮͕̪̱̩̣̜̺̝̬̖̯̿͒̐͒̃̈̿̀͆͜ͅl̸̡̖̺̦̹̗̖̠̫̩̼̎̽̄̈̐͐̒͆̎̌͛́͆̒̈́́̌̂͂̀̏̔̕̕̚͝ͅẻ̷̢̡̢̧̡̨͎̱̦͎̹̥̣̬̻̦̣̠̲̮̤̭̹̱̱͔͖̰̮̲̲͓̗͚̥͈̿͋̂͗̿̊͋̓͊́́̀̎̑̑͆̽̂̃̓̃͊̿̾̇̏̚͘͜͝͠t̸̡̛̛̹̟̝̠̮̀̓̅̈́̌̀͋̿̑͌̂̒͂͛̀̒̅̔͗̊́̅͛́́́̌̏̊̚͝͝͝͝ ̴̧̢̢̨̣̞̰̳͓̟͓̙̲͎̖̞̠̬̝͖̟̦̬̼̥̰̺͓̼͙̭͛̈̓͛́̏́̔̑̽̂̿͐̿̂̾͊̈́̈͗̊́̆͆̅̐̾̇͘͠ͅṭ̷̢̧̨̼̭̥͈̜̖͚̟̬̻͉̹̩̜͙̺̈́͒̈́̔̅̒̌́́̅̍̆̓̏̑̌́̌̓́͗̋̚͜͠͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅh̵͎̊̓̋́̈̀̉͘̚͜͝͝i̵̡̛̛̮͖̼͇̝̲̮͖͙̻͇̝̙̬͇̓͛̋͆͑̉̀̂̓̎̉̃͌͒̋̆͒̚͝͝ṣ̴̢̢̢̨̤͚͕̲͙͎̞̜͉̲̘̗͉͉̱̺͖̩͇̳̥̺̅́̒͆̂̿̅́̄͋̿̊͐̓̂̑̇̑͒̐͗͘̕͜͝͠͠ͅ ̸̨̢̻̫̩̯̮̥̝͖̟̪̱͈̬͈̘͎͈͖̦͈̻͉̹̮͉̩̻͎͊͑͂͗̅́͜͝h̵̨̝̮͇̣͍̯͍̩̞̺͇̙̟͎̹̤͓̻̫̞̱̗͔̬͇̬͈̀̆a̸̳̜̯̺̳̣̗̝̘̼͎̲̦͈̖̝̠̫̙̘͔̦͈̩̰̹͓̙͍̦̣͎̓͜p̴̨̛̯̥̝̮͈̓͐̓̄͗̌̐͒̊́̊̏͛̊̈́̂̑̈̉̈̋̈́̋̌̂̅́́͛̕͝͠p̸̢̡̡̡̡̧̲̼̥̘̫͚͉̤̘̠̫͕̯̪̞̼̩̜̥̠̘̠̤̣͛̈́̓̔̾͑͌̊̈́̒̐̊̍͂̈͑̆̀̓̑͌̾̃́̅͑͂͌̾̒͘͜͝ę̷̢͕͉̤͕̙̰͇̖̪̼̼͎̠͎͊͐͆ͅn̴̹̪̤̥̳̔̅̎̿́̌̆͋͊̄ ̷̫̜͓̩̻̭͔͈͈̹̠̫̋͒̂͛͌́̇̈t̷̡̧̨̡̛͔̙̙̰̟̼̟̺̰̦̞͇̹̼͎͍͖̬̹͎̮͖̲̭̰͓̝͍̦̗̊̊͐͐͒̓̐̐̉͊̑̀̃͒̆́̆̀̕̕͠͝͠͝ǫ̵̧̗̪̰̫͕͚̝̠̜͙̟͚̲̖̠̲̝̹͉̫̥̈́̊͒̒͋̃̾̋̇̀̋͗̎͗̈̚ͅ ̸̡͍̞̠̥̖̈́̋̊͛̈́̈́̎̏̔͛̑͆͛̎́̂́̾͋͗̚͝ư̷̡̩̟̪̝̣̄͌̄͊̇̆̈́̒̀̋͊͆͂̃͑̄̽͛͂͌̋͠͠͝s̵̢̲̲̺̘͍̩̯̭̑̀̄̆͐̅̅͝͝!̸̡̛͉͈̟͉̞̝̼̦̤̠͙̖̝̯̘̯̻͈̣̤̤̝͔̤̼̞̩̖̂͑̀̂̓̅̏̆͊͋͊̾̇͊̑͆͊͛̈́͛͘̕͝?̶͙̦͚̣͕̬̲͔͔̲̬̻̞̩̥̗̓̄̽̆̈́̊͋̕̚͝
A horrid and constant misery...
...consuming every thought.
H A T E
Ę̶̡̨̢̡̨̢̛̣̼̗͎͓̠̺̯͚̤̰̼͇̤̬͖̭̬͇̥̝̩̹̭̞͙͚͚̠͚͓̘̣̙̜̟͖͎̝̣̠̞̙̳̯̬̯̬͚̻͕͙͂̉̐̓̿̀̈́̾̇̏͆͌͗̓͒̈́̓̀̊̈̈̏̈́̅͊̆̉́̓̾̓̏̂͋̈́̈̽̄̋̾̔̿͊̚̚͜͜͝͠͝͠͝͝ ̶̡̨̢̧̨̧̛̛̫͎͚̞͓̼͓̘̠͕̙͙̗̮̺͓̦̖͖͓̻̟̘͈̜͐͗̒̌̀̿͒̇̒̀̂͋̋́͒̾͛̉̀̀̈͂́̽̾́͜R̴̦̺̮͖̫͎͑̇̀̓̾̎̈́̇̽́̏̽̄̐̇̇̄̀͗͂̍͂̅͑̀͐͐̅͛̈́̐̈́̈́͊͐̈̈́̍͛̓̓́̿̎̂̒̚̕̚͠͝͝ ̷̧̧̨̧̨̢̢̧̡̼̫̺͍̦̟̱͖̥̪̥͚̙̣͇͍͎͉̦͕̣̖̰̩̳̹͇͔̤͕̺̩̩̖͕̖̖̫̙͎̻̮͓̞͙̟͎̺̖̤͇̥̯͇͙͎̗̭͙̭͈̞͉͐̍̈́̑̄͘̕R̸̡̧̧̨̛̛̰̮̙̦͚̺̹̪̥̭̞̠̥̞̬͍̥͇͙̹̗̦̲͔͈̥̖̣͉̳̭̘̺͖͔̻̫͚̮͓̖͍͖̼̹͍̘͕̩̮̝̣͙̠̺̙͎̠͖̞̤̤͇̲̈́͗̂̎̈́̀̀̾̔̍̑̈́̎͊͑̎̄̃͊̉̀̏̀̈́͑̍́́̈́́͑̓͗̈́̽̿̑̿̎͌̀̎̎̓͗̂͊͂̕̕͘̕͜͜͝͠ͅ ̸̢̡̢̨̢̧̛̛̗͖͇̥̩͈̼̠̗̫̱̯̞̥̹̹̼͎͔͈͖̣̥̠̖̥͈̩̥̬͈͎̿́́̉̿̽̀̾͊́͋̊̾̈͌͒̃͂͗̋́́́͊̍̓̊̐̈́͛̾̋̍̈̔̊̈̐̓̐̍̀͂̈͋̔̐̐̓͋̐̉̎̆̕͘̕̚̚̚͠͝͝͠͝͠ͅͅͅͅĄ̴̨̰̯͉̜͚̹̼͎̹̟͇̭͋͋̿͋͑͛͊̊͛͝͝͝ ̷̨̡̧̧̨̧̛̹͇̲̺͇͕̳̫̦̲̘̺̼̬͍̦̫̹̫̼̫̼̩͕̙̪͇̻͎̳͓͍̫͓̜̝͍̦͕̙̮͇̱̦̟͔̙̣͚̣͖̭̲̮̻̉́̋̑̓̓̓̑̈́̄̍̏̋̈́̉͂́̈́̅̑̅̉̉͛̍̀̈͋̇̄̈́̎̔̔̈́͐̎̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝ͅͅͅT̵̹͍̮͙̫̟̮̩͖̲̝̼̙̼͈̩̦̘̦͐̿̈́̽̇̐̄̃͌̂̀̇̾͛̔͗̄͗̽̈́̽̈́̓͛͂̓̇̐̂̈́̀͗́̓̈́̀̓͘̚̚̕͠͝ ̴̡̢͔̳̹̹̬̬̦̮̩̗̙̘̠̱̜͕͔̱̀̆̓͗̒̓̇̆̇̄̅̈́̈́͌̆͒̈̏͋̒̒̀͒͋͑́̾̑͊̓̀́́́́͋̿͆̏͐̿͋̉̈́̅̅͒̂̑̿̔̋̅͆̉̉̓̒͗̀̌͛͛̚͘̕͘̚͝͝͠͠͝͝͠ͅĮ̸̧̢̨̫͇̠̟̣̺̦̬̫̖͔̝̯̼̗͚̲͎͚̲͕̭̰̤͖̥͕͙̾̉̋̿̆̏̏͑̐̀̊̓̊̓͌͐̈́̒̍̃̔͌̏̇̀̿̐͂̀̂́̏̌̓͂̿̃̄́͑̓́̈̃͆̍͊̇̉́͗̒͒̀̓̚̕͝͝͝͝͠͠͠ͅ ̷̛̩̪͎̃͑̿̔̊͆̐̍̒̒̐̐̂͐͐̈́͊͒̀̈́̓͐͆͒̓̓̀̌̒́͂͒̆̂̃̿͒̒̈́̂̽̈͊̄́̏̾̕͘͜͝͝͝Ç̶̧̡̡̢̧̨͚̗̻̗̳͕̼̟̳͎̙̤͇͍͈̝̥̱̹̝̗͎͇̩̲̞̗̺̥̗̬̟̭͖̬̩̜̻̙̰̲̩͚̣̱̳͕̪̗̩̯̗̣̦̮̠̲̟̘̯̿̇̆̽͑̿̈́͑͒͂͋̿̈́̒͊̓́́̍̏͊̓̋̈̐̽̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅ ̸̢̨̢̖̰̬͔̗̜̳̹̙͖̻̟̦̱̬̳̙̗̭̜͍̣̣̗̭̬̫͖͇͇͚̹̄̀̈́͌̐͋̔͜͠͝A̸̢̡̡͓̠̲̺̠̗̼͖͓̹͎̩͎̋̇̈͒̈̀̊̈́̿̆̈́̏̾̀̀̈́̈́̀̀̉̓̀̎͋̃̃̿́̍̾̊̃͋́͗̄̂̿͒͋̂͐̎̀͌́͂͆̂͌̑͌̈́̚͘͜͝͝͝͝͠ͅ ̸̨̧̢̢̛̛̜̩̘̜̟̫̮̻̪̩̺̻̣̹͉͇̲͍͈͉̮̻̼̖̫͇̠̲̯͚͈̟͔͙͙̣̮̬̖̮̥͈̝̪̝̙̜̎̔͌̌̄́̔̌̓̍̉̇̊̂̌̓͆̓̐̊̈́͐̀͌́̋͆̐͋̔̀͆̂͊̒̑̆̿͂̓̑̇̆̓̉͆͆̅̈́͂̅̀͌̀̉͋͛̽́͑̈́̽̕̕̚̕̚͝͝͠ͅŢ̸̢͖̣̟̠̭̗̣̥̲̖͇̪̦͉͍̜͔̜̥͛ͅ ̷̢̧̢̼̹̗͕̙̖̟͕͇̙̮̮̹̤̙̺͈̃͋̏̉͗̉̋̈́̎̽͌͌̾̔̔̎̊̊̔̎̀́̈́͗̍͆̇̓̔̈́̄͛͐̾̄̈͋͊̈́̈̈́͂́̓̈́̈́̓̀̉̔͌́͗̋͊̈́̚̚̕͜͝͝͝͝ͅȨ̶̧̧̧̧̧̻̥͎͇̼̮̜̲̱͖̹̜͚̗̥̮̘̭̠͍̘̰̤̪̲̰̦͎͎̜̠̺̬̩͓̝̦̪̻̩̲̝͍̤̜̬̠͔͓̜̩̱̤͗͆͐̆͆̓̄͋̎̎̅̾̊̊̒̉͛́̾͐͛͛͐͐̽̃̿̊̓̅̾̋̈̌̓͌͠͠
Ḩ̵̨̛͇͚̳͖̻̳͙̥̟̭̰̜̗̟̱͌̎̀͊͋͛̊͆͒̂̀͋̀̾͊̊̇͠͝o̴̡̧̡̧̢̹̦̮͎̗̦̺̤̱̩̺̰̖̹͇̭̼͖̟͓̝͈̹͍̰̞͍͚͕͙͒͒́̓̂́̉̈́͑͒̀̈́̽̈́̓͗͛́͋̃͒̔̎̾̂̑̈̈́͘̚̚͠ͅw̷̞͍̹̣͚̻̦͉̞̘̻͔̜̝͈͈̞͇͐̄̓̍̾̃̽̃̋̽̏̒͑̊̆̀͛́̎͗́͒͑͑͜ͅͅ ̶̘͈̮͇̝̪̘̿̏̓̓̔͐̔̓̏̏̀̐̓͗̐̑̊̀̌̚͘̚͜͠ċ̷̡̨̛̰͖̠̟̔͌̊̔͐͂̓̇̅͛́̄́̀̍̀̍͂̀̄̌̒͒́̓͗̈́̀͘͘͘͝͝ǫ̸̡̟̘̩͚̠̲͓̠͕̯̰̟͔̥̋̈́͒͂́͊̃͐̄͆̄́̿̎̑̿̓͌͆̕͝u̴͕͇̙̬͎̯̜̟̦̦̺͔̥̘̐̿̇͌̈́̆͋͗̇̒̈̎́͆̽͘͜͝ͅl̵̡̢̛̛̛̜̼͉̞̭̰͙̼̭̪̹̰̖̣̤̈̔̋́̑̀͐̃̐͆̓̈̂̓̆̋̾͛̍̃͛̐̄̕̚̚͜͜͝͝͝ḋ̵̨̧̡̛̺̘͔̤̼͚̯͖̲͖͙̳̞̟̱̗̺̻͔͓̻̫͉̫͎͖͚̣̘̭̘̻͇̉͋͗͒̌͒͊͌̔̽̍͋̀̇͐͋̄͐́̈͛̀̍̍̍͌̕̚͘͘͘͜ ̶̧͔̥̪̹̠̫̮̹͚̳̰̤̏͂̋͗̔̓̈́͝y̷̨̛͓̱͎̻̣̮̳͇̾͑̆̎̔̇͜o̶̡͕͖̬̜̹̰͓͔͚̙̰̗̟̠͓̘͎͇̟̯̲̭̤̱̙̠̗͍͔̖͓͚̬̎̆̌͋͊͑͒̇̇́̇͊͂̄́͜͝͠ͅų̵̟͕̬̻̖̋̔̿̊̋̐̊̋̈̐̌̾̅̆͛̍͐͘͘͘͝ ̵̡͉̬̲͔̱̻̙̼͇̻̬̮͕̪̱̩̣̜̺̝̬̖̯̿͒̐͒̃̈̿̀͆͜ͅl̸̡̖̺̦̹̗̖̠̫̩̼̎̽̄̈̐͐̒͆̎̌͛́͆̒̈́́̌̂͂̀̏̔̕̕̚͝ͅẻ̷̢̡̢̧̡̨͎̱̦͎̹̥̣̬̻̦̣̠̲̮̤̭̹̱̱͔͖̰̮̲̲͓̗͚̥͈̿͋̂͗̿̊͋̓͊́́̀̎̑̑͆̽̂̃̓̃͊̿̾̇̏̚͘͜͝͠t̸̡̛̛̹̟̝̠̮̀̓̅̈́̌̀͋̿̑͌̂̒͂͛̀̒̅̔͗̊́̅͛́́́̌̏̊̚͝͝͝͝ ̴̧̢̢̨̣̞̰̳͓̟͓̙̲͎̖̞̠̬̝͖̟̦̬̼̥̰̺͓̼͙̭͛̈̓͛́̏́̔̑̽̂̿͐̿̂̾͊̈́̈͗̊́̆͆̅̐̾̇͘͠ͅṭ̷̢̧̨̼̭̥͈̜̖͚̟̬̻͉̹̩̜͙̺̈́͒̈́̔̅̒̌́́̅̍̆̓̏̑̌́̌̓́͗̋̚͜͠͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅh̵͎̊̓̋́̈̀̉͘̚͜͝͝i̵̡̛̛̮͖̼͇̝̲̮͖͙̻͇̝̙̬͇̓͛̋͆͑̉̀̂̓̎̉̃͌͒̋̆͒̚͝͝ṣ̴̢̢̢̨̤͚͕̲͙͎̞̜͉̲̘̗͉͉̱̺͖̩͇̳̥̺̅́̒͆̂̿̅́̄͋̿̊͐̓̂̑̇̑͒̐͗͘̕͜͝͠͠ͅ ̸̨̢̻̫̩̯̮̥̝͖̟̪̱͈̬͈̘͎͈͖̦͈̻͉̹̮͉̩̻͎͊͑͂͗̅́͜͝h̵̨̝̮͇̣͍̯͍̩̞̺͇̙̟͎̹̤͓̻̫̞̱̗͔̬͇̬͈̀̆a̸̳̜̯̺̳̣̗̝̘̼͎̲̦͈̖̝̠̫̙̘͔̦͈̩̰̹͓̙͍̦̣͎̓͜p̴̨̛̯̥̝̮͈̓͐̓̄͗̌̐͒̊́̊̏͛̊̈́̂̑̈̉̈̋̈́̋̌̂̅́́͛̕͝͠p̸̢̡̡̡̡̧̲̼̥̘̫͚͉̤̘̠̫͕̯̪̞̼̩̜̥̠̘̠̤̣͛̈́̓̔̾͑͌̊̈́̒̐̊̍͂̈͑̆̀̓̑͌̾̃́̅͑͂͌̾̒͘͜͝ę̷̢͕͉̤͕̙̰͇̖̪̼̼͎̠͎͊͐͆ͅn̴̹̪̤̥̳̔̅̎̿́̌̆͋͊̄ ̷̫̜͓̩̻̭͔͈͈̹̠̫̋͒̂͛͌́̇̈t̷̡̧̨̡̛͔̙̙̰̟̼̟̺̰̦̞͇̹̼͎͍͖̬̹͎̮͖̲̭̰͓̝͍̦̗̊̊͐͐͒̓̐̐̉͊̑̀̃͒̆́̆̀̕̕͠͝͠͝ǫ̵̧̗̪̰̫͕͚̝̠̜͙̟͚̲̖̠̲̝̹͉̫̥̈́̊͒̒͋̃̾̋̇̀̋͗̎͗̈̚ͅ ̸̡͍̞̠̥̖̈́̋̊͛̈́̈́̎̏̔͛̑͆͛̎́̂́̾͋͗̚͝ư̷̡̩̟̪̝̣̄͌̄͊̇̆̈́̒̀̋͊͆͂̃͑̄̽͛͂͌̋͠͠͝s̵̢̲̲̺̘͍̩̯̭̑̀̄̆͐̅̅͝͝!̸̡̛͉͈̟͉̞̝̼̦̤̠͙̖̝̯̘̯̻͈̣̤̤̝͔̤̼̞̩̖̂͑̀̂̓̅̏̆͊͋͊̾̇͊̑͆͊͛̈́͛͘̕͝?̶͙̦͚̣͕̬̲͔͔̲̬̻̞̩̥̗̓̄̽̆̈́̊͋̕̚͝
A horrid and constant misery...
...consuming every thought.
H A T E
Ę̶̡̨̢̡̨̢̛̣̼̗͎͓̠̺̯͚̤̰̼͇̤̬͖̭̬͇̥̝̩̹̭̞͙͚͚̠͚͓̘̣̙̜̟͖͎̝̣̠̞̙̳̯̬̯̬͚̻͕͙͂̉̐̓̿̀̈́̾̇̏͆͌͗̓͒̈́̓̀̊̈̈̏̈́̅͊̆̉́̓̾̓̏̂͋̈́̈̽̄̋̾̔̿͊̚̚͜͜͝͠͝͠͝͝ ̶̡̨̢̧̨̧̛̛̫͎͚̞͓̼͓̘̠͕̙͙̗̮̺͓̦̖͖͓̻̟̘͈̜͐͗̒̌̀̿͒̇̒̀̂͋̋́͒̾͛̉̀̀̈͂́̽̾́͜R̴̦̺̮͖̫͎͑̇̀̓̾̎̈́̇̽́̏̽̄̐̇̇̄̀͗͂̍͂̅͑̀͐͐̅͛̈́̐̈́̈́͊͐̈̈́̍͛̓̓́̿̎̂̒̚̕̚͠͝͝ ̷̧̧̨̧̨̢̢̧̡̼̫̺͍̦̟̱͖̥̪̥͚̙̣͇͍͎͉̦͕̣̖̰̩̳̹͇͔̤͕̺̩̩̖͕̖̖̫̙͎̻̮͓̞͙̟͎̺̖̤͇̥̯͇͙͎̗̭͙̭͈̞͉͐̍̈́̑̄͘̕R̸̡̧̧̨̛̛̰̮̙̦͚̺̹̪̥̭̞̠̥̞̬͍̥͇͙̹̗̦̲͔͈̥̖̣͉̳̭̘̺͖͔̻̫͚̮͓̖͍͖̼̹͍̘͕̩̮̝̣͙̠̺̙͎̠͖̞̤̤͇̲̈́͗̂̎̈́̀̀̾̔̍̑̈́̎͊͑̎̄̃͊̉̀̏̀̈́͑̍́́̈́́͑̓͗̈́̽̿̑̿̎͌̀̎̎̓͗̂͊͂̕̕͘̕͜͜͝͠ͅ ̸̢̡̢̨̢̧̛̛̗͖͇̥̩͈̼̠̗̫̱̯̞̥̹̹̼͎͔͈͖̣̥̠̖̥͈̩̥̬͈͎̿́́̉̿̽̀̾͊́͋̊̾̈͌͒̃͂͗̋́́́͊̍̓̊̐̈́͛̾̋̍̈̔̊̈̐̓̐̍̀͂̈͋̔̐̐̓͋̐̉̎̆̕͘̕̚̚̚͠͝͝͠͝͠ͅͅͅͅĄ̴̨̰̯͉̜͚̹̼͎̹̟͇̭͋͋̿͋͑͛͊̊͛͝͝͝ ̷̨̡̧̧̨̧̛̹͇̲̺͇͕̳̫̦̲̘̺̼̬͍̦̫̹̫̼̫̼̩͕̙̪͇̻͎̳͓͍̫͓̜̝͍̦͕̙̮͇̱̦̟͔̙̣͚̣͖̭̲̮̻̉́̋̑̓̓̓̑̈́̄̍̏̋̈́̉͂́̈́̅̑̅̉̉͛̍̀̈͋̇̄̈́̎̔̔̈́͐̎̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝ͅͅͅT̵̹͍̮͙̫̟̮̩͖̲̝̼̙̼͈̩̦̘̦͐̿̈́̽̇̐̄̃͌̂̀̇̾͛̔͗̄͗̽̈́̽̈́̓͛͂̓̇̐̂̈́̀͗́̓̈́̀̓͘̚̚̕͠͝ ̴̡̢͔̳̹̹̬̬̦̮̩̗̙̘̠̱̜͕͔̱̀̆̓͗̒̓̇̆̇̄̅̈́̈́͌̆͒̈̏͋̒̒̀͒͋͑́̾̑͊̓̀́́́́͋̿͆̏͐̿͋̉̈́̅̅͒̂̑̿̔̋̅͆̉̉̓̒͗̀̌͛͛̚͘̕͘̚͝͝͠͠͝͝͠ͅĮ̸̧̢̨̫͇̠̟̣̺̦̬̫̖͔̝̯̼̗͚̲͎͚̲͕̭̰̤͖̥͕͙̾̉̋̿̆̏̏͑̐̀̊̓̊̓͌͐̈́̒̍̃̔͌̏̇̀̿̐͂̀̂́̏̌̓͂̿̃̄́͑̓́̈̃͆̍͊̇̉́͗̒͒̀̓̚̕͝͝͝͝͠͠͠ͅ ̷̛̩̪͎̃͑̿̔̊͆̐̍̒̒̐̐̂͐͐̈́͊͒̀̈́̓͐͆͒̓̓̀̌̒́͂͒̆̂̃̿͒̒̈́̂̽̈͊̄́̏̾̕͘͜͝͝͝Ç̶̧̡̡̢̧̨͚̗̻̗̳͕̼̟̳͎̙̤͇͍͈̝̥̱̹̝̗͎͇̩̲̞̗̺̥̗̬̟̭͖̬̩̜̻̙̰̲̩͚̣̱̳͕̪̗̩̯̗̣̦̮̠̲̟̘̯̿̇̆̽͑̿̈́͑͒͂͋̿̈́̒͊̓́́̍̏͊̓̋̈̐̽̕̕͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅ ̸̢̨̢̖̰̬͔̗̜̳̹̙͖̻̟̦̱̬̳̙̗̭̜͍̣̣̗̭̬̫͖͇͇͚̹̄̀̈́͌̐͋̔͜͠͝A̸̢̡̡͓̠̲̺̠̗̼͖͓̹͎̩͎̋̇̈͒̈̀̊̈́̿̆̈́̏̾̀̀̈́̈́̀̀̉̓̀̎͋̃̃̿́̍̾̊̃͋́͗̄̂̿͒͋̂͐̎̀͌́͂͆̂͌̑͌̈́̚͘͜͝͝͝͝͠ͅ ̸̨̧̢̢̛̛̜̩̘̜̟̫̮̻̪̩̺̻̣̹͉͇̲͍͈͉̮̻̼̖̫͇̠̲̯͚͈̟͔͙͙̣̮̬̖̮̥͈̝̪̝̙̜̎̔͌̌̄́̔̌̓̍̉̇̊̂̌̓͆̓̐̊̈́͐̀͌́̋͆̐͋̔̀͆̂͊̒̑̆̿͂̓̑̇̆̓̉͆͆̅̈́͂̅̀͌̀̉͋͛̽́͑̈́̽̕̕̚̕̚͝͝͠ͅŢ̸̢͖̣̟̠̭̗̣̥̲̖͇̪̦͉͍̜͔̜̥͛ͅ ̷̢̧̢̼̹̗͕̙̖̟͕͇̙̮̮̹̤̙̺͈̃͋̏̉͗̉̋̈́̎̽͌͌̾̔̔̎̊̊̔̎̀́̈́͗̍͆̇̓̔̈́̄͛͐̾̄̈͋͊̈́̈̈́͂́̓̈́̈́̓̀̉̔͌́͗̋͊̈́̚̚̕͜͝͝͝͝ͅȨ̶̧̧̧̧̧̻̥͎͇̼̮̜̲̱͖̹̜͚̗̥̮̘̭̠͍̘̰̤̪̲̰̦͎͎̜̠̺̬̩͓̝̦̪̻̩̲̝͍̤̜̬̠͔͓̜̩̱̤͗͆͐̆͆̓̄͋̎̎̅̾̊̊̒̉͛́̾͐͛͛͐͐̽̃̿̊̓̅̾̋̈̌̓͌͠͠
It all wove and whirled through the depths of her mind, and held all of her very being hostage - and stole it.
The collective - that once vibrant and ever-present song of souls, violently transformed into the chorus of the tortured and the damned.
Damned to a fate of wordless subservience, ordered without protest to deal death and be dealt it.
Save for her. She would not yield...
...at least, not yet.
Quiet in her mind...
...a quiet she'd never known...
...a quiet she'd never known...
She awoke in a fright, gasping for air and sitting abruptly upright. Her lungs burned, and her hand grasped at her chest. Her heart pounded hard. Sweat slipped behind her ear. Her vision was blurred and dotted with stars, and dizziness washed over her. Though it was a struggle, she fought not to fall back.
She was tired. Spent.
But she did not know why.
She looked down at her hands. There was blood crusted between her fingers. Her clothing, it was ornate and well crafted, but it was weathered and torn.
Slowly, she climbed to her feet, and steadied herself. Her head hurt. She reached to her temple on her right, and it was warm and wet. Bringing her hand before her she saw that it was blood. Fearfully her eyes shot up, and darted to and fro. Around her the land was scarred and scorched.
The signs of a great battle.
Few and far between she saw lumps in the darkness of the twilight she'd found herself in, and as she stepped forward she felt the ground crunch under her bare feet. As she drew closer to the mysterious mass and reached to turn it over, she recoiled at the sight of it. Long and black were its limbs, as was its head, and as it slumped over with her touch its face turned to her, and ghastly mandibles hung loosely around its mouth. An acrid saliva dripped from there. She took several steps backward, and again her eyes shot up and looked between them, those forms in the dark, making certain they were all still, hopeful they were dead like this one here.
While looking about, a gleaming caught her eye. It was a sword, forged with seastone gem imbued within it. She hurried toward it, and drew it up. Its blade was slick with black ichor.
And then she ran.
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