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He’s held in a prison south of Utsunomiya, a considerable ways from Tokyo, but every other week, you make the journey to it. With your Quirk and your powers, it’s not hard, but the time you have to set aside for it bites into your hero time. That is the only barrier that keeps you from coming more frequently. But he had made a threat, and in response, you made a promise. The first time you had visited him in there, shortly after his imprisonment, you had made that promise.
“I will come to you. Alive.”
And you did, again, and again. Rain, snow, sunshine, night, you came.
It has been a little over two years.
As usual, you arrive at the front gate, and undergo the heavy scrutiny of the guards present, scanned for unauthorized items and pat down. It’s a routine you’re well used to, as are the guards; you’re well known here now, but no precaution is too great to take. Then, through the first set of gates you are lead, then the second, and then, third, into the building. The first order of business here, however, is to momentarily disable your Quirk, a measure taken to eliminate any possible disguises or wormhole pockets not caught in earlier scans. Because of your Quirk, a guard guides you through this room, as you are rendered completely blind in this process. Upon emerging on the other side, however, your powers restore themselves after a few minutes. After being given a bottle of water, you are taken to the visitors center.
After having been told by him what hours are safest, which villains you had little to no part in apprehending being present or not present, you’ve settled on the most opportune times to stop by for these visits. So, there, at the far corner of the room, Ironwill waits for you. With armed guard escorting you to your seat across from him, you feel safe. Even the moment they leave, you are under no duress, with your own Quirk, the Quirks of those residing here being subdued, and Ironwill having your best interests in mind.
You sit across from him; today, he has supani nimono dish for dinner. You crack open your water and drink quietly while waiting for him to finish. However, it seems Ironwill doesn’t feel like waiting for that; he speaks after his next bite.
“No All Might today?”
“You ask that every time I visit, Takeshi, and you know why he can’t come.”
Ironwill-- Takeshi nods, looking very stoic and very disappointed all at once, before snorting and devolving into little giggles. You smile.
“That looks delicious, by the way.”
“You want a bite?”
“I ate before I came, thank you though.”
“You don’t even want to try it?”
“You only have a limited amount of food; you don’t get seconds.”
“True. Sharing where I can brings me joy, though.”
“Just tell me what the dish is and I’ll make it for my next meal at home.”
“Oh, but I think you already know what this is.”
“I think you might be right.”
The two of you smile at each other. Ironwill finishes up, dabbing at his mouth with his thin paper napkin like he just ate like royalty.
“Mother called the other day. Wished me a happy Tanabata. Said I should have something coming in the mail. Of course, only for use when visiting others, or when I get out of here. She doesn’t really consider I can’t use the things she sends. But it’s a nice thought. Resources for when I’m released.”
“It is. I’m glad you were able to reconnect with her, Takeshi.” You address him by his true name.
“Yeah. She’s doing well without Father.”
Takeshi’s mother had been divorced from his father for years before he took up villainy, but he hadn’t been in touch with her when that had happened. After his imprisonment, and at your recommendation, he attempted to reach out, and after a long string of leads, was able to track her down. Fortunately, she was more than thrilled to hear from her estranged son after all these years, and arranged to visit him the very next day.
“She isn’t without her own flaws,” Takeshi had confessed to you, “but she’s human, unlike the man who loosely raised me.”
“Your dad was human, too,” you reminded him gently. “We can’t de-humanize even the cruelest of us. Anyone could be him. Anyone could be worse. And no matter how bad they get, they’re still one of us. To say they’re something other not only absolves them of blame, but absolves the rest of us from responsibility. Because if we qualify someone horrible as something we can never be, we lose track of the very easily traversable path that takes us there.”
That conversation had happened a long time ago, but Takeshi had never forgotten it. A passing guard barks at Takeshi to sit up straighter, bringing your thoughts back to the present moment, and he does so near instantaneously. You watched as the guard walked away, before leaning in close to Takeshi.
“You’re still being treated decently in here, right?” You knew the Japanese penal system could be more than just harsh under the best circumstances, but with no other alternatives out there, it was the only option for men like Takeshi.
“It’s the Golden Rule,” the man replies with the lightest shrug of his shoulders. “Behave if you want to be treated well.”
“I know that, but there’s a limit to what should be acceptable punishment. I’ve heard of guards going too far.”
“It’s not as bad as it was a couple centuries ago.”
“But that doesn’t excuse any undue cruelty now .”
Takeshi sighs. “Have you forgotten what I am, Comet?”
“What you were --”
“What I’ve done?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten.”
“Neither have they.” Takeshi gestures to the guards with a tilt of his head. “And I would appreciate if you didn’t downplay the severity of my actions. We both know what I had planned was total societal upheaval, from its very ancient roots. Perhaps abuse is one thing I don’t deserve, but I personally haven’t found anything wrought upon me to be the equivalent of that. I’ve found my treatment to be just for the severity of the crime committed.”
“If you’re sure,” you relent. “I don’t want you to needlessly suffer.”
“Funny, that same sentiment is what put me in here.” Takeshi chuckles, tapping two fingers against his iron jaw as he leans back in his seat. “But just like you’re willing to endure pain and suffering for the good of others, I’m willing to do the same towards my redemption.”
Takeshi pauses, placing a hand against the cool metal on his face.
“There aren’t many stories like mine. There are not many who, when given the chance, leave the path of crime to pursue something harder, but better. There need to be more. Your leader, Manami Shimizu, is the first to come to mind who’s done such a thing.”
“Her name often gets brought up in villain circles, yes,” you agree, “but never with any serious consideration to follow her same path.”
“No,” Takeshi agrees. “There are still a lot of things wrong with society, and I never understood why Shimizu chose the path she did because of that. She likely sees all the same flaws that I do. Part of me still doesn’t understand.”
“Well,” you point out, “would you agree to start a government sanctioned hero agency using your extensive knowledge of the criminal and villainous underworld in order to avoid jail time? She has more power in this position to really enact positive change than if she basically created a whole new era of Yakuza.”
“The fact that that worked for Shimizu is astounding . I don’t think many people realize that. That kind of opportunity is both foolish to offer, and foolish not to take. A lesser human being would have taken advantage of such a thing.”
“She did take advantage--”
“Not in a negative way.”
“You mean using the opportunity to, say, flee the country and continue her crime syndicate elsewhere.”
Takeshi nods.
“Well, regardless, that’s in the past. The point I’m trying to make is, stories like ours… they just don’t exist. And for good reason. Not many are willing to give criminals second chances, and fewer criminals themselves are willing to take them. The world still needs to be changed, but it won’t happen through oppression.”
“That’s right. People don’t accept their choices being taken from them, for better or for worse.”
“But that’s just the thing, isn’t it?” Takeshi places his head in both of his hands, his head bouncing as he talks. “People don’t accept their choices being taken from them. You know that includes criminals and villains as well.”
“I do,” you agree, “but it’s different.”
“Is it? Most all villains are only after things that will improve their lives. Isn’t that what anyone wants? Don’t misunderstand, I’m not arguing in favor or defense of villainy, but there’s something I’ve come to realize while I’ve been in here; every side fights for something to help themselves. Every side fights for the right to choose. What happens when, suddenly, nobody gets to choose? That was what I was proposing, with my initial scheme, but before such a thing could even be tested, you and All Might shut it right down. But, in doing that, you took my right to choose. Rightfully so, but the point still stands. Everyone is fighting to live through their choices. How they’ll be most comfortable doing that… no matter what side, it will always infringe on the comfort of the other. It will always eliminate a choice.”
You furrow your brow; Takeshi does not normally dive into such intense topics. Normally, your visits are on his progress, his process into understanding why what he did was wrong, and why he should fight so that it does not happen again. Perhaps there’s some argument for that here, but it’s… different. More involved. The power of choice was certainly a driving factor in his villainous actions when you first met, but thanks to therapy, it has been transformed into a blessing than a power to abuse. With this conversation, however, you are not sure which way he leans. You yourself lean forward in your seat.
“Takeshi, what are you going on about? Are you feeling alright?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” Takeshi drinks from his own cup of water before continuing. “What I’m saying, Comet, is everything requires a choice, and every choice takes away the option of another. By taking away my ability to choose, you opened up a series of other options for yourself that lead you to your… ‘partnership’ with All Might. I hold no ill will towards you for this: it’s just a statement of fact. Your choice to fight me lead you and me here, to this moment. However, you’re not the only one who has power over making choices. I’m sure you were aware of this, but it bears stating aloud. Above you, someone makes more influential choices, more, and more, and eventually, there’s someone, or something, at the top. Comet… what happens when a choice is made not one living being can say no to?”
The question comes from left field; the conversation by no means took the route you had thought it would, and it strikes the breath from your lungs as you consider it.
“I… I’m not following. Unless you’re talking about, say, a meteor crashing into the earth and killing us all tomorrow, there’s always going to be something to choose. There’s always going to be an alternative.”
“Until there isn’t.”
You give Ironwill a wary look. He holds his hands up defensively.
“That’s not a threat coming from me. But it is a threat.”
“And why are you saying this? If it’s not coming from you, then where...”
Ironwill looks through you.
No.
Wait.
He looks through Comet .
He is, however, looking at you. You, reading. He is looking at you.
Is it him?
“I’m saying this because t̶̗̐h̷̫͗e̷̘͌ř̴̪e̵̹̊ ̷͈̅i̵̡͝s̷̖͂ ̴̡̨͙͈͈̙͓̗͉̞̩̫̼̗͗̃͊ͅs̴̡̜̥͉͖̦̱̩̟̻̹͉̪͇̃̌̐̔̀̋́̋̽͘ọ̸̡͍̤̯̝̦̠̘̝͚̺̙̞͕̋̒̒̂m̷̮͍̱̹̱̝͎̳͕̙̎͐̽̾̀͆̈́̓̌̿̈́͘̚̚͜ͅȇ̸̛͚̦̭̭̅̆̿͜ͅt̴̢̞̝͚̮̤̞̰̲̒̇̿̍̆͝h̶̨͈̤̠̳̾̂̑͂̆͑̌̆͐̈́̇͜͝͝i̶͉̲̭̪̬͍͖̺̜͇̣͚̼̱͗͛̂͒͗͋͋̐̆́̏̄̂̚͜͠ͅṇ̷̫͚̗̼̟͚̼͔͎̤͇̫̺̲͌̈́̐̒̈́̃g̷̨̛̥̬͇̞͔͖̗̈́̾̓̓̈́̾͆͐͘ ̶̨̧̨͔͖̱̣̦̪̥̑̌̓̓̾͊͒̔͛̽̎̊͌̕a̵͕̱̺̰̲͙̼̪̦͚̳̹̞̞̤̐̂̃͑̆͊̾͜͜m̵̧̼͎̌́̈́̀̑̑͌̄̔ǫ̸̛̻̬͕̳̮͍̝̯̖̠͑̈́̓̑͗́̃̍̌̓̉͘͝ṉ̶̢̛̝̭͈̙͓̰̞g̸̢̢̢̤͈̮͚͍͔̫̥̠̱̯̖͐̋̃̆̉̿̐ ̵̲̾̊̂̽͑́̇͋͋͊̂͛̚̚͝ư̵̗̻̦̎s̷̬͉͈̻̯̾̿͌͛̓͑̒̊̇̓̈́͊͝ ̴̪͍̰͖̥͓̤̻̻͓͔̍̊̋̄̐t̵̖̳͍̦̟̞̗̺̱͕͚͌̆̃͗̚͜h̵͙͑̋͋̾̾̎̕͠à̵̗̠͈̪̫̣͑̉̆̅̅͛̈́̕͘̕͝ṯ̵̏̃͌̈́ ̸̛̫͔͙̘̓͛̈́̈́͒̽͌͆̿̿d̴̡͔̣͖̹̳̗̫̠͂͐̀̀̈́̃̌͝o̶̢̡̭̭͚̰͕̠̬͗̔͒́͌͝e̶͈̲̅̉̉́̾̿͒͆̈́̊́s̷̰̱͓̤̙̤̯̠̹̺̪͒̀̓͋ņ̶̛̘̥̰͓͍͕̘͇͆͌͗̀̿͊̈́̇̂̉̊͗̀͘'̶̡̨̛̪̪͎̻̙͍̞͙̗̗̰̠̗͛̔̎͆̐̃͂̊͛̔̓̈́͠͠ṫ̵͎͗͑͂̍̏̾̈́͐̉̚ ̶̧̨̛̛͖̝̠̗̙͓̠̲͖͉͋̒̋̊̉̋̅̌̄̉͝b̸̧̢͍̤͕̤̤͕͍̊̔̾̆͗͝͠ȇ̴̩͓̙̜̟͇̥̺̟͎̬͉̜̂̃̑͒̌͜ļ̴͈̥̮̣̼͗̌͝
You awaken to silence. The sheets draped around your body phase past the edges of your bed. The world outside is still dark, and your bed is cold. These days, it always seems dark and cold. That’s because of the weather, of course. Rainclouds as far as the eye can see. Grey. Grey, like your eyes. Grey with sleep, with blurriness. Morning eyes. You rise from your bed and move to open the curtains; a little natural light never hurts. Well, the illusion of natural light. It’s not real, anyways. It doesn’t rain. All for the better, you think. Warmth is your preferred state. Speaking of which, perhaps the thermostat needs to be adjusted. There’s always a bit of a draft that accompanies the nothingness.
You’ve taken a day off for yourself, left the agency to be handled by the other heroes there. They’re capable. You’ve worked alongside them for yyyyyyyyears. They’re some of the greatest heroes you’ve knowninthisu ever had the pleasure of working alongside. You think of them and their smiling faces as you step out of your bedroom.
There’s no floor outside of your bedroYou emerge from your bedroom into the dark hallway, padding across your wooden flooritisn’the into the living room. On the wall you lean while you fiddle with the thermostat, up and down, up and down, until you settle on a number that sounds right (there’s inf̸i̵n̴i̶̭̫͂t̵͕͋̃ͅe̸͔͊) and decide to make yourself a cup of coffee. That will help you get the day started.
You check your phone as you wait for it to get started. No messages. That’s alright. It’s early, and all your friends are d̸͙̾e̸̼̱̅a̸͎̾ḑ̷̜̂͂ asleep. They’ve earned their rest a hundred thousand times over. They should have it. The boiling of the coffee maker is a comforting sound against the silence. The silence of empty streets.
It is so quiet.
Some people have asked you why you don’t prefer tea. You just shrug and tell them the strong flavor was î̶̟͒n̸̲͝ ̵̛̯͕a̴̧̾n̵̞͒͑ǒ̷͚͜t̸̺̾̆ḥ̴̠̍̏ȩ̵͎͐͆r̷̝̥̓ ̴̿͜p̵̡̌͐l̸̦̠̐ǎ̸̢̟̕c̵̻̔̇e̸͓ ̵ͅã̸̝͖͠ ̸͔̇͠b̷͉͐̌a̸̗̱͒̕d̶̥͖̎͛ ̴̧̑ţ̸͊á̶̦̠s̷̥̦͋t̴̩̑̔ę̴͇͌ ̴͍̣̐͊w̷̡͛i̴̻͋̂ť̷̻h̴̨͖̄͘ ̸̗̇̑͜ǎ̴̠͍̔ ̵̘̼̊b̶̗̗̈́á̶̮̻̌d̵̠͔̒͠Never something you could adjust your palate to. Or was that coffee? That’s what you’re drinking; coffee. It’s not the coffee.
You shake your head. Sleep deprivation is starting to get to you. Your thoughts are fuzzy and scattered. Coffee will help you get the day started.
Perhaps some eggs to go with the coffee would be good. Scrambled, with ketchup. While the coffee brews, you crack a few s̵k̷u̷l̴l̶s̶,̵ẗ̴̨̜̝́̔̌h̶̛̗̟͇̝̰͗̋͘ę̷̠͇̞̈̾y̴̫̜͖͍̒̾͜ ̵̻̝͍̲̆̐̐͘͝ḧ̷͇̅͋ȁ̵̩̪ď̴̦̦͐̍̓ ̶̛̫̲̥̯͎͑̽̓̋ḭ̷̱͖͔́͗t̸̫͇̝̗͔͊̈́̃͑ ̴̨͇̄͐̋ͅc̶͉̹̩̮̗̄ọ̷̬̳͉̥̑̐̈̓m̴̯̈ǐ̵̥̬̿̕n̸͓̯͔̙̰̆̈́͋̈͑g̵̠̍͑͂͗ ţ̷̡͉̝̲͔̩͉͌̈́͐̄̊̎̍̓̈́͘͜͝h̴̢͉̖̙̜̜̼͕͉͓̏̈́̇̃͆͠e̶̠̲̖͈͖̞̳͈̦̹̬̻̪̾̓̔̓̒͋̒̆̆̏̚̚͝͝ͅ ̴̧̡̯̩͖̤̫͖͆̈́̈́̂̀͐͜ͅb̵̨̝͕̪̳̘͖͚̪̫̺͖͍̠̲̈́̈́̑ą̴̦̭̹̞͈̼̞̪̟͕͑̿̏͘̚s̴̢̛̛͍̯͍̳̤̼̝͓̱̲͖̯̙̣͕͚̊̑͜t̷̡̥̹͉̩͕̹̰̟͇͒̇̾̇̃̽̃̓̋̌̄͘͝͝͝͠͝ eggs, stir them up with a little milk. What about omelettes? We’re not having omelettes, we don’tYou sprinkle in a bit of green peppers and onions, too. It’s no omelette, but it gives the eggs a little kick they wouldn’t have had otherwise.
You pour your coffee, take your eggs, and sit down at your table with one cushion. You take a bite of your eggs first; delicious. Then you sip your coffee.
… no.
It was supposed to be tea, this isn’t
Thisisn’t theright r̴i̷g̵h̸t̵ ̵r̶i̷g̷h̷t̴ t̷͔͔̃h̶̢̲͆͗́͠è̶͔̦̚ ̶̨̼̺̝̺̿͆̀r̴̞̫̖̂̄̃̚͝i̷̛͚͕͔̓̎̔͘ḡ̵̲h̴͇͐̍̌͋͜t̸̺̑̎̇ ̷͖̎̀̋̂r̸̯̻̹̻͋i̸̜̬͎̺̅̉͘͘g̵̢̲̹̲̩̽̅̄͝h̵͔͖͈̐t̶͓̩̎̄͋ ṛ̷͎̜̠̪̳̣͊̅̾͌̆̓̄͝ï̶̠̭͚̺̬̣̱͎͐̆̓̕͠ͅg̴̨͖̞̘̻̊͑h̶̨͍͍̮̻̘̦͆́͒t̴̻̪̒͑̆̚r̷̰̦͕̘͙͚̝̊͑́̄̏̍͝i̵̡̛̞͖͙̖̠͊̆̈́́͛̕͜͝g̷̢̞̯̹̪͙̣̤̰̈́͂h̶̤͛ţ̸̥͕̦͇̠̑͌̾̄̀͑͂̅͠ṟ̴̦͖̼̠͓̻͉͔͓͐į̷̖̘͈͕̫̥̱̰͆̅͆̔̂̋g̴͉̙̞̰̊̈͠ẖ̵͎̮̎̈́͒͛̿̉̇̍͠t̸̲͕̪̐̄͋͊̒͝
The tea is delicious. You smile to yourself. It’s a great compliment to the french toast you made. Sometimes, the more simple breakfasts are the most delicious. The ones you make the most perfect. Only the things you make are perfect. Why leave it to chance?
There, you enjoy the peace. The peace of everything being still, and unchanging. The temperature of your breakfast, of course, goes down, but you control this world. This apartment, your world. It doesn’t have to follow the chaos of everything else. It can be stagnant, still, like a pool of water, only disturbed when you want it to be.
Well, even if it’s your day off, there’s still paperwork to be done. After you take care of some of that, you can allow yourself to fully relax and enjoy the silent streets. No one is there. The paperwork, of course, is simple. Find the ones that don’t belong, shred them. Find the ones that do, scorn them. They don’t know any better. Though the work is peaceful, as you stare out the window into the unfinished sky, you think about all the things you’d rather be doing.
One of them isn’t here anymore. One of them is bad for you. One of them is a life you think you would have enjoyed. One is a life so ideal and sweet, it makes you sick, in the “no regrets” kind of way. One of them, you have a baby.
Oh, but to have a child; a chance to do something right, something different from what your parents had done for you. When you were born, y̵o̸u̸ w̴̬̦͇̪̳͖͈̄̉͛e̴̘͖͙̤̙̓͐̈́͂̇͠r̴̼̪͎͛̊̔̉̓̅͝e̷̢̢̻̖͈̩̅͊͊̍͊̿͝--
è̶̠̝̭̗͎̗̥͙̙̂x̸̧̧͇̱̘͙̓ţ̸̫̙̇͗̀̿͂̚͝͠r̶̢̮̦̘̀̋̆̾͆̓̚͜͜ă̸̛̻͙̤͕̄̒̂c̵̛͚̮͗ţ̴̞̻̩̱͓͇̱͍͋͆̇̐̕i̴̲͈͂̉̽̎͘n̶̢̮̳͖̥͍͎͓͉͕̂̊g̸̞͙͔͑̐͝ ̶̡̱̖̦̖͍̬͇͒̾͊̊͋̕͘͜t̵̢̮̒ḫ̶̨̧̜̮̦̤̜̟͚̄ę̸̟̱͓̣̘̳͙̑̆͜ḯ̴͈͋͆̀̕ȑ̴̢̡͍̹̠̓ ̷̫̭͓̆̈̍͊͋̏4̸̡̥͍̼̜̙͖̙́̄4̷̢̪͉̥͉͑̏̏͜͝ͅ ̵̱̮͎̬̖̩̟͍̖̤́͌́̈̓̈̚4̸̠̮͉̞̣̖̫̘͉̽͒̉͋̚͘e̵̢̜̙̞̯̭̺̋̈́̍͗̒͆ ̵̧̯̼͉̭͖̩̬͎̘̒̋̈́̽͌̓̒4̴̛̬̟̟̮͖̤̍͆͌̈͒͑̇̅̑1̶̢͈̗͈̿̆̏ ̷͔̱̎̌a̵̝͇͆̒̄͌̊ņ̸͙̐̓̏̊͝d̶̢͕̪̺̪̯̈̈́ ̶̟̎̌̿̆̆̇͌͝͝ú̵̘̩͚̙̹̆s̶̱̬͔̥͎̈͗́ȉ̴͖̬̣̝̀̚ͅṉ̴̡͔̱͖̱̦͂̆̑͋̅̎̄͋͜g̸̨͈̦̤̈́͐͝͝ ̴̙̱͕̬͎͖̯̂́̇͊̐̊̆̇͝ẗ̸̜̥̟̳̹̦́̍̆̇̚͘ͅh̵̢̨̧̯͉̥͔̱͓̮͊ę̸̼̟̪̺͒͊͛͒̆͝ï̶̙̥̟̼̞̭̠̄r̶̲̪͚̘̭̜͛͗͜͝ͅ ̸͉̞̘͉̞̘͓̿̓͑͊̃͋b̸̠͈̯̻͇̣̓͛͒̂͝ḛ̴̤̊̅̓̿̍̉͆t̶̛͍͈̉̽̀̿̈́̂̽̚t̸̛̯͋͒̿͝è̵̖̯̙̤̮͕̤r̴̫̙̓̍̍̇̃̌́͝ ̸̮̜͔͉̞̭̐̌͐͗̂͋͘͜t̶̘̫̮̾̄̈́̒̎̏̕̕͠r̵̡̫̲̻͎͎͑͆͗͛̍̊̕a̵̲̻̾̆̊̎̍͠͝i̴̢͍͗̎̃͑̾͆͌̃̓͠ț̶̰̍͒̚s̶̢͒̅ ̷̨̺̘̠͔͕͈͔̺̼͒͛̾̀̆̏̔͘t̷̤̼͙͇̭͒̈̌ȯ̸̡̼̝̜̥̳̩͚͉̻̀̏̂͗ ̸̨̧̻̙͙̺̱̣̤͊̓͒̍͐ͅ7̴͔̺̗͉̳͈̩͐̔͂̎3̵͔͎̳̭̲͍͍̟̭̖͗̊͘͝͠ ̶̢̢̥̤̤͎̇͋͒͐͠7̸̨̪͉̯͓̳̐̈̃ͅͅ5̷͓̮̩̉̓̅͒ ̴̨̠̣͎͓͆̀̌̈͘͝͝7̵̢̭͓͇̙͙̙̲̭̦͛0̷̨̯̰̑͠ ̶̘̘̣̗͐̅̐̎̓͒͘͝6̵̭̦̥̙͈͛̾̕ͅ5̷̡̢̛̳̦͎̗͇̉͠ͅͅ ̷̨̨̜̩͗̆̄͗̂̓̉̌̂7̸̨͕̰̾͊̑͊͠2̴̹͖͙̩̩̭̝̎͒̎̈͝ ̵̝̐̈̈́̐̃͘2̷̦͔͈̲̫͉͛͛͛ͅ0̸̡̛͍͔̐̈́̆̐̃̊ ̵͍͚̠̯͚̭̞͙̹̐̓̽̿̌͒̓͝6̴̨̯̝͉͕̦͓̖̦͒́̃̍̽̿̀͛̊8̸͓̠͔͙̏̇̽͌͜ ̵͖̥̺̳̆̇̒7̸̺̠̯̲̫̤͔͔̋̌̔5̷͍͇̼̹̜͂̎̀̈́̓́̈͛ ̸̲͔̺̞͎͍̮͚͋̈ͅ6̶̡̳̗̰̜̖̫̱͚̽͐̒̋̍d̴̼̰͑̐͌̄̓̐̂̓͋͝ ̴͕͙͉̗̾̋6̶̨̟̗̟͎͍͚͎̓͆̾̑̈́̍̋1̶̨̤͊̐͊̋̾̌̕͝͝ ̷̧̩̲̭̼͕͈̈̑̅ͅ6̷̛̱̖͕̞̫̤̳̮̗̠̃͐̒̄̊e̸̲̘̹̺̪̫̺͘ ̷̢̥̭̘͔̤̺̣̗̄̽̃̈́̎̃͠͠͠7̶̧̬̩̪͕̤̲̈́͛3̴͔́͌ ̸̘̗͛͋̆̄̓̕͜͝2̵̛̖̳̃̑͒̈́͒́͝0̷̱̂ ̸̡̟̬̙̟̣̗̺̀̉̆̅7̶̳̠̪̦͔͚̺͖̺̈̿̈́͒͠4̴͔̥͂͋͝ ̶̡̨̬̤͓͚͇͉̺͂͊̎̋̊̌͌̉̈́͠6̵̜̫̙̌̀́̇8̴̖̦̫̺̠̮͛̿̅͋̊͆̐͘ ̵̭͕͕̠̯̮̘̦̄̽̿̈̊̈́̎̕͝7̶̥͍̀̃̔̌́̚͝2̴̨̡̡̩̭̃̔̈́̋̒̚͝ͅ ̶̭̥̣͘6̶̤̀̑̋̔̇̽̓f̸̨̛̛̜͕̣̪̗͈̖̿̄̇͋͒̔̕ͅ ̶̡̛͓͖͍̰̓̐̒̌͂͗̄̉7̷̜̙͇͈͙̳̺̠̙̯̌͒̓͊̔͘̕5̵̹͒͑ ̵̢̨̛̥͑6̵̼̼͕͙͇͊̑̅̅͋̓̀̕7̸̡̫̰͉̻̺͙̰̊͛̂̽̉̀̋̒ ̸̳͓̤̪̮̘̟̜͛̃͊͗6̸͙͕͍͇͎͎̼̈́͛̿̃͑8̶̡̧̛͔̰̭̘͗͒̊̍ͅ ̷̹̱̦̲̺͎̱͓̏̇̈̃̚͜2̸̥͓̼̺̝̘̉̋̍0̸̨̤̠͍̘̿͗̈́͒̉͐͠ ̶̭̝̳̝̏̓̄͛̾̈́͑̂̂7̶̢̧̰̞̪̓̏3̶̖͋̏̍͗͗̿̎̚͝ ̶̨͙͈̯̮͝6̸̡͍̲̃̓̎͌̊̈́ͅ5̶̜̣͚̺̱̱̮̘̼̼̅͒ ̵̧̛̰̫̟̹̻̰̕6̸̖̙̃̅͗̽̇ç̷͈̼̠̖͕͚͗̽̎̄̕ ̴̗̲͎͙͎͚͚̐6̷̬͇̳̗̈̓̂̈́͑5̷̮͖̣̘̦̘̱͖̝̀̆͊͛̃̉͛̎̚͜͝ ̷̬̞͐̄̂̓͑̉͑̕6̶͇͈̻̀̽͝͝3̵̡͕͚͕̪̫͌̾̑̽̈́ ̸̧͕̤̹͋̈͒̀̐̍̃̚7̸̡̢̘͈̻̪̻̝̗̒͜4̸͈̳̪̣̼͚͍͚̠͆̐͋̚̚ͅ ̷̡̢̠̳̲͉̱̲͇͂̂̓͑̆͌̄̕6̷̧̡͇͍͔̽9̴̹̮͎̩̊ ̷͎̊͗͆7̶̥̮̄͆͋̽̔͛6̷̨̠̺̭͎̾̍̈́ ̵̨͖̓6̵̡̢̹̖̼̟̩̾͛̆̕͘͘͜5̴̹̜̹͉͐ ̴̖̹̗̳̯͓̜̥̳̩̈́͋̕2̴̦̆̑͐͌͗͌0̶̡̭̤͒ ̵̨̦̬͊̒̋̈́͌̇̈́͛̓͗6̵̨̡̣̬̩̗̕2̵͋̄̏̂͜͜ ̶̫̩̤̝͍̠̞͊̏̈̏̎̓͝7̵̝͉͂͒̉̏͆̔̾͂̕2̴̗̈́ ̷̱̈́͗̂6̶̢̡̯͇͒̈́̚5̴͖̬̠̾̑͂͂̿̕ ̴̻̞̔̄͑̾6̸͎̊͋̊̐͝5̴̲͂̄̉̽́̉̎͝ ̷̢͎̦͉̩̝͎̯̼͑̓̄͊͐̕͠6̷̧͕̦̗͙͕̎4̷̛̥͎̺̭̱̙̆̾̾̈́̈̈͘ ̸̛̰̐̌͗̐͆6̷̧̇̈̈́̋̂̽̐̆̎̕9̶̬̥͎̝̔̐̆̂ ̴̢̤̺̯̤̋̎̎̕6̵̡̣̱͔͈͕͈̙̾̉͗̕͘̚ę̸̨͇̹͇̽̅͂̐ͅ ̵̡̛̘̱̣̂̎̓6̷̯͎̑́́̌̽̓̾̂͝͝7̶̧̮̲̝̳̎.̶̡̻͖͇͇̙̈̕ͅ ̶̢̨̤̪̮̓͒̓͒O̸̙̻͖̻͈̟̔́f̵͕͕̖̙̝̮̮̋͠ ̸̡̪̳̖͐̍̓̏͛̕c̷̨̧͖͈̹̗͍͖̮̉͂̾̈́̅͌͘̕̕o̸͕͇͊̂̎̈́̌͗̈ŭ̸̩̳̬͓̠̗̂͑ŗ̴̗̻̈́̅́̑͠͠ṣ̸̢̲͓̟̱̋e̶̛̺̱̟̔̈́͑̈́̏͆͘͜,̸͚͉̮̟̙̗͇̭͕͐̇̈̈́̓̓͗ ̶̼̥̩̝͎̔̒̀͜t̶͔̭͉̠̞̞͙̅̈́͊͋͒ḧ̸̛͉̼̘̜̠͙̦̿̿̽͂̑̽̀e̶̗̥̠͉̰͙̭̞͊́̒̽̾͘ṡ̶̢̮̫̞̦̗͔̽ê̴̘̗ ̶̫͇̰̺̗̲͙̹̔̄̆̈́̅̏̕r̵̙͉̰̰̣̂ų̷͇̺̝̲͑̐̅͜m̶̧̱̼̞͒̒ȏ̵̡̨̰̤̝̪͙̑͜r̶̢̧̮̞̫̥̩͛͒͒͝͝ŝ̸̢͕͇͓̲̟̗̟̘̭͋ ̴̫̙̮͉͐w̴̯̽͑ę̶̮͚̣͎̜͈̳͍͒̓̿͝r̷̯̜͕̹̟̟̤̔̒̇̇͊̉̈́́ę̴̯̬͚͇̤̲̯̃͑̍̾̃̋̾̈́͘ ̶̢̝̰̭̙̫̥͐̅͗̒̓͂̅7̶̢̛̤̐́͛͋̂̾͒͠͝1̶̧̨̭̲̲̊̕͜ ̴̦̣͎͑̐̆͂̈́̉7̴̮̳̼̍̅͌͊̎͛͘5̸̖̠̭̞̥͂̈̅̿͝ ̶̨̰̻̖̌̌̑̆͗̐̚̕̕̚͜6̴̡̧͕̰̟̥͕̝̮̓̂̎̀͠ͅ9̶̡͖͍̹̞̬͉̀̎̅͊̊̉̀̍̀͊ ̶̝̯͔̺͍͓̞̤̿̾͛̅̋̋͘͠͠͝ͅ6̵̦̥̩͇̙͓͑͌̌̾̓͘3̷̧̗̤̈́̋̏̿͛̾͆͝ ̵͉̒͋́̀̐̃͘6̴̢̗͕̯͎͙̪̏̽͐̑̽̔̈́̈́̊͘͜b̷̖͔̱͔̳͂̃͜ ̷̨̤͎̪̲̣͇̤̃͝6̷̫̭̲͍̘̫̱̤̻̥̍͝c̸̢̛̪̭̫̑̄̿̄̊ ̸̨̡̛͙̪̖̮̺̙̤̇͜7̷͔̭͍̬̗̥͑̒̈́͒̓9̶̛͙̀͐̈́̉͂ ̷̡̯̻̪͑͛̿̂̍͝ͅ2̴̡̥̙̹̺͍͖͓̘͂̆̓̅̔͛̔͘͜0̷̨͔̦̭̳̀̋̑̓̄̏́͆̚͜͠ ̵̺̳̩̞̝̻̘̹̇͑̓̈́͝ͅ6̸͙͐̈̌̈́̒͝4̷̦͕̫͖͈͙̇͛͒̈̈̉̇͘ ̸̜̤̥͉͐̋̄͋̍6̶̡̺͇̳̞͙̫9̴̻͎̤̖̮̩͕̓̓̐̏͌̐͠ ̸̪̍́͑̊͋̇̈́͠7̷̤͘͝3̶̨̘͈̝̥̠̖͈̲̻͗ ̷̹͈̬̖̻̘̉̌̂̋͌͜ͅͅ6̵̭̺̎͂̍̀̾͊̐̉͛ͅ2̴͖̝̫̆̾̆̄ ̶̘̤̭̈́͑͑̀̕6̴͚̻̪͇̰̖̬͐̄̊͆̉ͅͅ1̷̗̦̠͖͇̞͈̣͇͉̋̐̒͑͗̄̏̐̑͘ ̸̧̥̖̪̱͊͛͋͆͛̾̎͊6̸̧̢̡͉̬̟͉̽̐͊͑͑͠͠e̷̞͍̙͌̔̃̉͛̐̒ ̴̛̭͇̹̬̜̯͔͈͇͋̉̾͊̓̇̄͜͝6̸̧̖͖͍̌͊̉͆̏͘͝4̴̙̱͈̰̬͌͠ ̸͎̣͉͓͍̪͖͋̾́͒̄̔̔6̸̭̦͋̿̏̇̽̿̓͝5̸̡̳͙̌̎͆͐̈́͒͘͘͝ ̷͓̐̐6̷̟̞̈́̍̿͂̈́̎̆̾́4̶̼̪̲̜̭̠̣͆̾̇̊̓̄̈́̓͘ͅ,̵̳͖̍̌̅̐ ̴̝̜̗̅͑̈́̐͗̊̈́͐a̵̰̱̋̏̿̂̈́̎̚͠n̴̮̼̮͇͈̄̒̾d̵̖͖̝̥͉̪̗̫̓͊̍͐͊̌͑̚ ̷̘͉̟̩̌̅̏̂̽̋͘͜t̵̝͖̮͊͊̈́̓͘͝͝h̴̡̭̲̤͔̝̔̿̕ͅë̸̢̞̙̳͓̮̜͖̪̮́͊̾͗̆͊̚ ̴̧͖͙͓̋̽̾̊̒̏p̵̧̺̺̰͙̎̆̾͐͂̒͘͝͝u̷̙͎̠̗̱̫̐͑̈́́̔̍͠b̴͍̏͗͋͗͋̌l̶̺͔̭̺̟̠̦̂͒͌͑̅͝͠ì̵̮͙͙̬͎̩̹̹̞̿̌̌̈́̇̒̚ç̶̜̙̮̫͉̮̞̖͋͗̅ ̸̝̞̜̙̠͍͓̩͆̎7̸̘̭̱̥̱͋1̷̘̲̠͔̩̹̖͐̌̇̅̏̅̉͂̕͜ ̸̢̢̧͍̗̤͓̯̠͑̌̒̓̀ͅ7̴̧̙̊̾͊̎̃͝5̶̡̧̧͎̣͕͉̩̋̍͊̈́̀͑͑̈́́͘͜ͅ ̶̰̤̜̟͈͓̝̩̒̑̈̓̈́̒͂̈́6̵̯̄̓9̸̧̛̛̭̖͔̱̅̀ ̷̠̝͔͔͍͚̯̿̒͝6̷̡̥̘̋3̵̛̛̮̙̣̃̊̈́̈́ ̷̳̥̓́͛̽6̶̝͛́͊̊̅͊̋̐̾͠b̷͚̭͎̬̻̼̗͈͉͓̋͆͐̕ ̸̨̡̡̣͚͍̰̲̣̄͊͑̏͂̊͘ͅ6̷̧̛̠̻͖̫͎͉̝̟̜̒̿̇͗̔͠c̸̹̲̩̲̈́́̋̕ͅ ̷͎̗̄͌7̵̨̛͖͙͚̳͖͔̯̔͋9̵͖̗̗̥͊̓̿̋̇̔̍ ̶̙̒̕2̸̡̡̹͇͇͓̩̟͙̞͌͊0̴̢̹͕͈̳̬̜̆͊̾́̓ͅ ̸̠̥̲̗͘ͅͅ6̸̢̥̣̣̦̠͖̦͆̈́̄͒͜ͅ6̸̘̎̍̊̍̅̄̌̈́ ̸̛̻6̴̦̼͐̿̆̓͝f̶̺̯̳͔̦͉̦̜̻̼̓̎̂́̓̑̾͘̕͝ ̴̨̾͗̅̿̅̓̓̉7̵͈̜̯͐͝2̴͚̗̰̝̼̳̹͋ ̴̡̭̱̝̝̣́̈̾̕͜6̷̨̫͕̯̤̩̄̋͌͝ͅ7̸̡̢̲͕̣͇͉͓̟͌͠ͅ ̸͕̥͕͓̥̊̋̈́6̶̛̤͎̱̒̓̉̋͌͝͠f̶̨̞̣͓̟̳̭̗͑̄̓͆ͅ ̷͙̤͎͙͊̌ͅ7̷̢̧͙̫̹͇̦̲͇̿̈́̃͋̇̏͗͑̿͘4̴̺̈́͛͐̐͆̅̚ ̸͙͋̈́̉̆̎͋̀͛ỉ̸̧̢̪͎͚̘̠̦̌̒͛̏͐͠n̵̡̟͈͎̯̩͇͘ͅ ̶̛̹̱͎̤̭̒̄̅̀͆̎͘f̵͔̺̙̘̘͂͗͗̍̽̎͗ạ̵̢͓͉̫̽̔̈́̂̏̍̿v̷͕̯̦͓̳̯͔̥̇̓̎̍̄̇̌o̴̡̼̤̦̞̬͍͒͗̿͆ͅŗ̶̰̤̠̺̯̻͚͆̄͐͛̈̎̀͑ ̵̪̔̾̐̀̉̈́͑͝õ̸̡͚̞̹̪̟̰̓̈́f̷̨̹̦̙͍̻̣͉̪̈̒̏̈́͝ ̴͔͎͖̝̱̘̎̍̽̒̕͜m̴̨̯̱̙̩̪̫̈́̿̄̑̈̆̄̉̾ó̸̧̪̔͐̋̚r̵̝̪̘͓̘̄̽̆̓̒̎̈̃e̸͓̣͎̼̩̭͙̘̻̽̌̃̏ ̵̥̯̫̗̣̤̣̉͑̂ṟ̴̬̮̏̀̕ê̴̛̘̟͊͋͂c̴̯̱̈́̍̍̀̈́̂è̷̱̭n̸̢͉̮̣͕͖͍͖͔̓̎̐̑̿̆̇̚t̸͎̝̙̖̓́͝ͅ ̴̨̲̤̗͔͎̳̂̔̓͑͘͝ͅ7̷̢̼̖̗̥̯͗̅̿̀͗͝͝ͅ3̷͔̠̟̼̤͚̣̏̔̒̈͂̈́̌͌ ̵̰͔̦̎͌͗͂̋̉̄̃̒͝6̵͉̫͌̂̽͌̄̿̍̀3̶̡̭̪͉͕͙̃̇̍ ̷̱̮͇̭͖̼̗̤͍̿̿̽͐̎̈́̐̑͠6̵̡͖̀̈́͐͆͗͛͜͝1̴̧̦̼̯̱̟͙͙̈̇ ̵̡̟͑̅̀̓6̷̡̜̫͔̰̙̱̣̟̭̽̊̈̈́̒͗̋e̴̦̙̪͇̹̅̇̂̈́̚̚͜͠ ̷̢̘̈́̿̌ͅ6̵̛̛͎̦̙͔̇̔̒̒͠4̷̛̪̼͌̈́̐̀͊̅͘͝ ̸̡͓̽̆̐̏͋͑̒̃͠͝6̷̭͌̒̊͆̒̎̕͠1̵̭̝͇̬̄̎͛͗͝ ̵̱̞͙̝̩̓͌̒̀̈́͛̐6̷̧̙͔͛̚c̵̥̜̜̪̾̿́̈̾̂̔̕͠ ̷̨̫̱̺͒͑̅̾̚7̵̨̤͚͉̝͙̂͆̆͌̋̉3̵̠͉̫͗͠,̷͔̃̓̂͗͒ ̸̡͓̺̞̼͙͊̓͒͊̌́̚ĺ̸̛̛͙͔͕͇̼̳͒̉̐͑͝͝i̶̡͓̟̊̇k̴̲̦̅́͑ẻ̸͕̯̠̮̈́̌̄͊̓̓͐̅ ̶̼̼̦̤̉̐͑̈́̈́̕̕͠7̴̞̂̒͜7̷͉̟̻̜͎̱͂̈́ ̵̧̛͙̱̼̣̤͍͍͎̈́̌̓͐͊͝ͅ6̵̡͉̬͔̀͋̓͘8̵͕̩́̊ ̷̹̬͙̙̜͊̀̍͝6̶͎̠̦̤̞͒͑̊̍͌̐͛̒͗1̴̛̭̳̥̝̲̭̫̄͛̒͆͒̾͠ ̸̦͉͑̓7̷̧̉̍̇̎̑͊̀͘͝4̸̳͛̋̂͐ ̸͙͕͙̯͕̼̳̈́͂̋͘2̵̱͌̒͂̊̈́̋͛̽̌0̶̨̠̫̲͎̋̾̂̄̋̃̋ ̶̡̢͉̻̭̳̈́͊̈̄͛7̸̨̓̀̓̇3̷̢̛̭̳̯̟̩̯̲̒̆̑̈̌͛̎̉͑ͅ ̵̪̞͎̤̟̝̖̲̓̃7̴̳̬̥̠͊4̵̛̝̻͉̓̒̄̉̄͘͘͝ ̷̩̜̯̿̃̅̔̅̈́̏6̶͈̥̭̲̌͒͌̄̔1̸̧͖̫͚̗͕̜͉̈́̀̆͒̃͋̇͜͝ ̸͇̫̖̼̼̦̩͎̑͛͂̍̃7̴͔̩̣̳͐͌̒͐2̵̛̬͇̤̺̂̿͠ ̴̦͕̮͖̾̊͝7̵̧̧̛̠̞̥͙͉̄͛̐͐̈́͝͠3̵̡̨͇̤̬͈̰̼̂̂̔̔ͅ ̴̧̧͚̣͔͖̦̃̿͗2̷̢̛̰͈̫̲̝͌̍͒̔͌̚̚͠͠ͅ0̴̜̒̂̐ ̵͕̰̼̽̓̉̈́̌̉̐̓͘7̷̗̈́̎7̵͈̙̹̰̥̬̓̏ ̶̨̡̡͎̖̦̞̣͕̪͊̃̇̀6̶̛͓̦̬͕̼͚̳̋̒̑͊͐̔͑͠͝5̸̢̻͂͂̀̑͆̃͋͝͝͝ ̶̬̱͕͈̌̂̿̄̅̕͜7̷͉̫̓2̷̱̭̗̳̟̲͕͈͛̇̋͛̾̀̓ͅ ̷̜̱̟̫̎̈̍͗6̴̦̭͉͎͔͈̬̗̏ͅ5̶͖̜̭̘͕͋̏͠ ̷͓͕̦̝̰̉͊̉ͅ2̵̨̗̲͙͖̓̽̅ͅͅ0̸̖̦͕̱̹͉̘͈͆̿̈́͂̃̓ ̷̨̠͚͕͔̠̘̻͇̆͜6̶̝̺̙͇̼̯̩̬̇͆̽̒͑̀̔̒̄̃7̸̹͔̪͓͇̲̪̎͒̈́͗̄͋̃̂̐ ̷̻̤͛̌͋̓̂6̶̡̧͙̻̪͍͚̬̗̾̔̑͐̈́́͆͘͝͝5̴̡̩̟̙̭̘͂̂̿͋̃̽̾͐͝ ̷̠̼͑͊͊̏̚7̵̡̳̭̅4̸̡̠̞̗̩̬̓ ̶̛̼̪̹͍̈́͑̈͑̋̎̀̌7̵̠̬̜̼͈̹̘͈͌̇̈̽͐̆̚͝4̷̡̭͉͇̝͖̱͖͉̍͋̐̈́͒͋̓̄͘̕ ̷̖͈͎̻̺̙͖̄͐͝͠6̶̠͓̙̝͈̞̿ͅ9̶̢̭̝̰̻̫̈́̽͛̇̍̐͗ ̷̯̟̃̂̈́̾̅̑̌̓̓͘6̶͑̾͛̑̔̈ͅę̶̼̙̰͕͋̓͛͛ͅ ̴̨̭̬̤͈͍̪̌̓̓̈͝6̵̛̟̗͎̗͉̺̰7̶͙͈̃͋̆̄͝ ̷̥͒̑̃͠2̸̩͎̞͈̠͂̈͝0̴̰͚͔̫͎̲̱͉͇̇ͅ ̶͔̟̲͚̺̊̄̐͜͝6̴̞͐̀͒̌͛̍͝9̷͖̯̅̄̈́͐̈̽͠ ̴̝̯̼̀͒͒̉6̵̨̗̺̜̾̊̀͂̚ĕ̵̱̍̐͝ ̴̧̧̲͈̪̩͍̹͔͊́͆̃͒͝ͅ2̶̣͑͛͑̓̓̕̕0̶̡̀͊̕ ̶̧̱̙̤̫͔͒͋̉́̓̋̌ͅ7̸̡̣̠̠͉̲̫̥̗̭͒̒̔̈́7̷̮̥͈̱̰̯͗̅̑̈́͆̿̓ ̷̳͎͊̒̀̈́͐͐͝6̵̨͙̻͎̝̲̒̉̈͂̋̄̓̄͗̃8̴͖̞̠̣̖͂̉͗͆̉͛ ̴͉̳͚̹̮̆͆̓͠6̵̥͇̣̞͍͗̓͐͘͝ͅf̴͇̭̼̙̿̓͜͠ͅ ̴̟̫̬̮̞̪̼̿͑̐7̸̗̤͕̻̣̇ͅͅ3̶̛̠̲̌̊̎̀̉͘ ̶̛̣̩̮̻̲͒̇ͅ6̷̧͖͐̎̐̿̽5̸̧̬͇̩͚̹͉͇͆̐̓ ̴̳͊͛̾̎͠2̸̘̮̯͉̘͛̆̅̅͘0̵̛̬̥̙̝͉̤͕̈́͠ ̴̙̪̙͌̏͆̓͐7̵̞̙̅0̸̣̜̥̰̫̟̲̦̠̩̇̕ ̶͚͍̜̫̟̺̹͖̈́̒̕͘6̴̨͈̞̼͎̠̖̏̾͗͂͛͐̇̕1̸͍͔̙̺̥͔̎̀̊̅ ̸̧͔͕͉͕͈̟̣͓̻̐͊̆̍̿6̶̼̬̦̯͓͌̈́͊͗̒̒͘͝e̷̢̪̪̟̙̯͛́̍̈́ ̴̛̺̄̋̈́̑́͛7̷͎̬͍̅4̸͙͝ ̶͖̪̪̋̓̄̉̚ͅͅ7̶̥͚͚̳͚͒̅͠3̵̨̝̖̪̦̃̔̅͛͂̈́̓͜
Born?
Born?
Born?
You weren’t boŕ̸͈̟̖͙̪͕̞͛n̶̨͚̹͇̦̞̲͆̍̆--
When you were created, it wasṋ̶̓̑'̸͖̻t̶̜͇͖̅͘ ̶̨̥̤͇̬̝̓̃̑̿͆ r̶̢̨̡̥̲͈̙͖͚̯̰̯̠͕̰̀͑̃̄͐̃̈́͗̄͛̾̓͠͝ǐ̷̫̝̺͇͚̰͛͘̚͝g̸̻̥̝̻̤͚̱̦̻͚̻̞̜̙̺̟̗̼̟̀̃͌̂̓̄͠͠ͅh̷̼͉͕̰̝̫̟̺͓̤̪̤͙̮̜͎̖̼͔̎̉̍ͅt̴̡̨͖͖͇̯̞͓̉͑̿̓̋̎̊̒͌̀̽͜ AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
N̶̨̮̽̕o̵͈̠͆̚ ̴̰̔͊w̶̭̖̌a̴̫͒r̴̲͛̓͜m̸̩̐̾t̸̗̃͑ḩ̷͎͐ ̶̢̈ḭ̸͙̔n̵͔̊ͅ ̵͚̏̉t̵͇̓͌h̷̤͖̔̈́i̷̫͔͌ș̸͚̍͂ ̶͇͎͊h̶̬̚ỏ̵̬̐ũ̵̹ŝ̵̮͠e̸̼͋͆
̷͎̣̕͠I̶̗̮̽t̶͍͒'̶̨̝̈́s̴̭͑͑ ̵̨̹̍̓n̸̟̐͠o̶͚͋̊t̷̢̜̉ ̵͎̳á̴̮̕ ̴̙̭̍̅ḫ̷̈́ō̸̞ů̶͎ṡ̴͍̂e̸̩̠̓
̶̢̱͂̐N̶̮̟̓̚ỡ̶͜ ̵̧̟́k̴̛̹̰į̴̟̋̌n̸͚͠d̴̻̭̎n̷̯̊ẹ̸̎s̸̈́ͅs̷̞̑ ̷̱̪͆f̶̝͔̾r̸̹̗̂ö̷͕́m̴̥͉͑ ̴̳̍t̵͓̩̐̚h̵͍̕ĭ̵̹̤̄s̸͚̳̈́̍ ̴͉͝ͅm̵̰͔̕ö̴̫́̌t̷̲̾ĥ̸͍̟ë̶̖͈́͛r̸̥̊̿
̶͕̤͘I̷̯͍̅t̵̼͓'̵̖͉͛s̵̼̪ ̷̝̥̂n̴̜̣̎ȍ̵̼̂t̵̮̍͝ ̸̹̱̊a̷̼̽̌ ̸̮̞̌͆m̷̞͒ơ̴̫̖̓t̶̳̯́͑h̷͈͍̏e̶̼͊͘ṛ̶̼̿
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
This isn’t about you.
Before you, there was me . I .
This is about me.
This is about me , about you .
This is aboutYou will understand. After all, an aberration of nature like myself, who w̵͈̲a̸̜̲̓̃ś̶̼̅͜ ̵͕͌͊f̷̞̉̚a̶̻͖͐ñ̶̻̩͠t̶͕͂a̶̬̭̒̚s̵̜̎̂ṱ̴͆i̷͈̊c̶͍͒͘ȧ̷̻̌ľ̷̞l̸̖͠y̵̪͕͋ ̷̟̾a̵̫̞̾̒ĝ̷̜i̴̻͝l̴̳̈́e̶͚̚ͅ,̵͉̀ ̶̝̄̔s̶̟̤̃t̶͔̄͐r̴͕͇̓͘o̶̼̞̅̂n̵̜̠͆͝g̸̟̪̐̓,̸͇̈́ ̸͉͗ȃ̷̜̮͊n̸̗̾d̷̦͚̚ ̵̛̩̄ị̶͠ṉ̸̈́̋t̴̛͉ĕ̷͙̠͌l̸̳̰̿l̵̯̑ȉ̶̛̞̤g̶͙̪̍e̸̡͈͂n̶̖̐̀t̶̺̳̒̎ was bound to break out of those confinesAfter the paperwork was done, I faxed them all back to the office. The mechanic would look into them for me, sort them as needed. If she had any confusion, she could ask yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy
What was there to do with the rest of my day? Perhaps I could go for a walk. Maybe peek into some stores. It had been a while since I had attempted to go shopping for myself, instead of hiring out the task. That would be nice. To have a new sweater. Maybe something greenpurple grey. But would he letmeout?I throw on a jacket and some sneakers and make my way out of my apartment down to the abandoned streets below. Since the elevator has long stopped being operational, it’s down the several flights of stairs I go.
After stepping out around the broken glass from the front doOut of the front doors and waving goodbye to the receptionist, I emerge into the busy streets, filled with all of me. Purple and green, what dreadful colors, and I walk with the crowd, unlike S̵͓͎͒o̵͓.̴̩͛.̶̯̕.̴̲̮͠ ̸͕̋͜͝ś̷̤õ̷̡̥̊ ̵̻̣̃ṁ̸̩͛ǎ̵͍̼n̷̡̓y̴̧̎ ̶̱͂̉p̵̮̙͐̓ê̴͇̎o̷̢̒p̸̝̞͛͆l̸̺̟̀͝e̸̳̒͘.̸̡͓.̸̘͂.̵̺̊ ̸͇͂s̶͍̈́o̸̱̓͜ ̶̪͔̍͑b̸̺̓i̷̢̧̿g̸͓̎.̶̻͛.̸̢̻̂̂.̴͔͔̌́ ̴͖͊͘Ǐ̸̫̬͊ ̴̡̆̔c̶̖̖̈́̀a̷͇͊̽n̵͇͈̏͂'̷̘̿̈́t̶͖͌̈-̵̼̉ It’s a generally peaceful walk through the streets of the city. There’s always the distant sound of sirens, but it’s more peaceful than when I grew up in ẖ̵̞̟͛̂͛͌̌̈́o̵͓̿̈̚t̷͉͕͕͚̩̹͚́̃ ̷͕̦̞̭̪̄̌͗́a̷̡̗̲͖͕̱̍̔n̵̙̂d̷͚͙͚̺͗̅̎̓͂͝͝ ̶̰̲͋̍͜h̶̢̞̻̄͠a̵̹̝̫͉̘̐́r̴̗̙̹͔̰͙͇̈́͗̕̕s̵͇̲̳̞͑͆̔ͅͅḩ̷̜̲͕̦͒̆̔͋̓͑,̷̨̮̗̱͈͎̠͘ ̵͙͆̄͋͜k̸̞̞͙̭͈̣͗͛̐î̵͙̫̹̬͑̓̈́̀͋͘c̴̞̙̺̅̊͠k̷̼̫̮̙͓̭̤̋͆͂͐͝i̴͕̯̬̮̪͊n̶̡̠͚̫͎̟͘g̶͕̠̱̮͋͘ ̸̡̛̔͋̌̓̃͝ḁ̶̈́̽͌͋͠n̶̫̓̿̈́͌̚͝d̸̤͛͗̄͝ ̵̤̫̰͔̩̖̆̀͊͊̇s̶̖̖̲̼̓̈́w̸̻̍̋̽̾͆͠i̶̜̱̝͛̎̏ŗ̴̝͕̯̹̞̄̈́̏͋́̓͘l̸̛̺̲̬̲̏͘̚í̷̦̊̇̽̿͒n̸̝̭̭̫͙̈́g̷͎͍̠͉̹͆ ̶̨̝͚̠̬̠͗d̴͖̹̥̊̉́͆̎̂u̷͚̔̆̚s̸̡͉͎̉t̵̨̥͖͙͗ ̸̗̹̩̬̫̾͆̏ḑ̶͉͋̊̏͂͐͐͝e̸̛̺̜̾̾v̵̫̏̕i̸̥̔̉̍͂̂͝l̵̨̟̺̱̙̝̬̀ŝ̶͍̫͈̹̿̅̎ ̶̧̧̭̆i̷͕͑̄̒͂͘͝ñ̸̖͍̖̇́͋͆͝͠t̶͙̝͙̘̮̅̆͑ő̷̱̞̞̙̗͈͌̑͜ ̷̥̫͒̎̈̚ͅb̶̼͓͓̮̬̟͎̿͑̽̕e̷̠̣̾̕͝ĭ̶̘̳n̸͚̜̈͆g̶̥̬̞̺̠̺̈̓͠,̸̡̩͙̒̉ ̶̝̺̰̞̀̂̃ͅw̷͍̯̪͓͌̆̍͂̚ͅh̸̥̼̼̋̅i̶̢̫̬͋͌̑͗c̷̭̼̲͔͐h̵̗̻̰̗̣͈ ̵̤́̽͋̕ţ̶̛͈̹̃̿̆̕r̵̡͇͉͕͎͇̈́̍̄͑a̶̧̦͓̮͋̄͆͛͘v̷̖͙̣̫̗͇͋̀̎̄̾̆͜ę̵̘̹͉̲̮̔ṙ̴̖͎͈͍̑̑̋͘s̸͈̭͙̓̑͜e̵̡̳̪̱̖͛̎͑̑̾̓̆͜d̶͔̣͚̱̮̱̀̆͝ ̶̝̻͈͙̩͚͖̑̓̍͗̌͘t̴̩̩̦͗̈́̃̆̕ḩ̷̭̱̲̍e̴̡̯̻͉̯̫̅̏̿͐̉̅̕ ̸̢͉͚̤̯͓̣͊͂͒͑̈́̐b̷̢̛͖̱͈͕̯̜̄̓̓r̷̬̯͚̺̎̎̄͒͘͝o̵̡̫͚͕̟͈̊́̉̐k̶̞͚̾̆͒͝ȩ̶͕̬̗͌̑͂̓̐̾n̸̬͓̳̤̙͉͆͒͊͝ ̵͚̹̗̉̋̀̐̽̈́͘ȓ̴̢͗̎̓o̷̱̭̤̒͒̚ͅͅa̵̲̣̓͐͑d̴̟̲͈̃s̷̼̥̻̯͊̏͗͗,̵͉̺͔̝̄̇ ̷̡̫̠̩͇̃ḇ̴̢͊̃̀̔̈́͝ë̷̛͖̗̣́f̶̧̨̠̹͆̒̒ö̶͖̠̖̰̳́̍̇̈r̴̐̑̐͝ͅe̵̗͓̪͌͜ ̷̟͐̓̐̈́̕d̷̨̝̥̜͖̘͙̊̊ý̷̰̹͎̪̹́̐̓͘̚͜į̶̗̝̿̎͘͝͠n̸͉͔̔͑̄̎̚g̴̻̑̆̎ ̷̧͎̥̝̭̬̽͒̈́̍͜s̶̜̝̐̀̽̍͛͌͘o̴̡̯͓̟̍̓̓̅͜͝m̵̹̝̼̗̥̱̀̽͌̔͐̈́ḙ̵̯̯̱͂̓w̶̻̙̮̍̉͛̕h̴̨̼̫̰̒̆͗͛̐͠ͅë̷̥͙̠́͝͝ŗ̶̼̩̪̻̈́ḛ̷̣̻̙̿ ̴͍͔̤͚̙̠̖̌b̴͖̬̽e̵̤͍̯̳̪̺̾̐̑͘ť̸͈̥̬̟̃͒̈w̸̦̰̲̥͖̦̳̾̋́̎̏̕e̸̲̊ḛ̷̛̪͍̞͔̽̀̽̄̕ņ̵͇͎̠̣̠́̔̈́̒͒ ̸̧͉͆͊͑̄̔̕͝t̶̛̼̯͎̣̜̥͆̀̇̓̓̕h̵͍͓̮̹̻̗͚̏̈́̌e̸̢̤͚͙͊̆̍ͅ ̴͎̝̜̩̠͖̬̋͐̌n̶̡̡͓̯̱̳̬͂ê̵̺̇̀̉̿ḁ̴̛͗͊͝r̵͕̬͈̙̹̅̈́e̷͚̹̟s̵̻̤͍̣̈́ţ̶̤̖̋͝ ̴̳͉͉̥̘͆̉͝b̴͚͖̈́̌u̷̅ͅi̸̢̛͉̝͚͊̍̾l̶̨̗̼͇̬̲̋͂͛͊̈́d̶͉̥̗͓̙̻̗̓̅͊î̷̞̱̳̻̟̹̋̽̾̇̕ņ̷̢̦͔͖̖͒̎̀̂͂̚͝g̷̡̧̦̭̥͓͂͛͐͜ ̶̲̗̈́̏͛a̸̮̰̱͆͂̉͌̏͗͜͝n̸̲̜̯͚̬͇̿̌͐̉̈́̍d̵͈̗̭̄̄̇̿̚ͅ ̵̞̹̯͈̰̗͚̅̉̀̎̑̽̾b̸̝͓̾̈̄͝͝ṙ̸͔͙̹̺͍͖̠̄̑̓̍̊o̷̖̳͎̮̤͐̕k̸̛̩͓̗̞̤̿͜͠ẻ̸̮̹͇̈̾̈́̄̂n̸͎̻̫̘͑̃̈́̑̑̚͝,̶̻̐͠ ̶̢͕̺̯͑̄̂͜ș̸̛͙͓̋͌ȗ̷̡̟̩̼̗͎̋̊̄n̷̖͕͇̾͋͌́̅̎́b̸̢̼͔̣̝͉̌̀̆́̿͝u̸͓͂͑͌̈̋r̷͍̮͍̝̾̓̕͘n̴̡͉͙̹̽̈́̈́͛͝ẗ̴͇̬́͗̓̋̓̇̊͜,̶̯͓̙͍̈́̾̒̌ ̸͍̣͎̝͓͇̿̇̈́͋̆h̸̡̬̟̯̠̉̅̆̋͒o̶̫̓̏̒͂̔m̵͚̅ȩ̷̡̝͚͍̫͓͌͆̈̓͘͝ļ̴̬͈͈̀͆̏͂͂ĕ̵̛̤̜͎̳̆̾͑͘s̷̡͖̬̙̍̈́̆̚͝ͅs̴̨̟̱̲̈̄ ̴̨̘̖̥͍̙͎́̍̔̑̊̋̕a̸͓̠̘̭̣̐͒͋̄̈́d̴̨̳̲̫͍̘̮͌͋̅d̶̼̺͒̅͐́̕i̴̧̨̺͎̺̎̽̓̓̒̕ͅc̴̡̥̈́t̶͓̬͉̞͎̆͊̓̅̓.̵̗͗̇̏̔͝ ̶̠͐̉̓̈́̈́͆͑S̸̨̻͕͊ṏ̸͇͓̳͈̮́̚m̸͕͍̹̦͗̃̕ė̵̞̫w̷̠͈̃͆̈ḥ̸̳̩̩̏ẻ̵̞͐̒͑͑͆r̴̡͈̪̊̉̃́ẻ̴̢̞͍̘̫̑̍ͅͅ ̴̯̤͔͔̲̱̈́̏̈́ŏ̸̧̢̱͐͒̌̿͘v̶̢̙̪͎̦̈́̒̅͝e̵̻͛̈́̓̈́̚ŗ̶̩̠͈̰̇́ ̷̢͈̝̍̈́͌̾̇̉̕t̸̡̰̩̲͓͒̊̈́͂̈́̉h̷͚͕͔͖̲̞̐̓̿̋̋̄͆ē̵̡̢͇͈͎̌̾̓͂̕ ̴̼̟̼͉̆͑̊͝c̸̘̦͇̅͐͊́͘l̴̢̩̱̫͙̻͆͂̒̃͝͝ǫ̷̹̻͎͝s̸̬̖̝͋̾̿̈́̍͠e̷̯͇̤̋̄͐̃s̴͔̤̰̐̏̀̃t̸̲͕̪̺̼̩̳̽͊͑ ̵̜̻̫̹̩̽h̷̡̳͇͈̔̌̅̓̈̉͠i̶̢̝͕̮̟̹͑̔͌̈́̽͒ĺ̶͇͓̭̻̪̾̂͛̇͜͝͝l̸͎̟͍͝,̸̫͕̌͊̆̂̈́͌͝ ̷̟̪͐͛ǫ̵̯̣̹̏̃̒̈́͠n̶̛̮̆̀͋̿̉e̵̙̺͐͌̄ ̴̣̏̿w̶͇͓̲͉̫̟̦͌͌ö̸̞̭͉̝̻͔͕́̕ǘ̷̠̫͚̇͗̓̔̇̈l̵̢̯̳̝̰̳̱͂̇̅͊d̸̢̻̤̞̐ ̶͎͉͇̙͈͇̋̍ḩ̴͎̙̦̮̐̏̔̐̕͝ͅe̵̪̓̋̃̚a̵͉͙͎͋̋͝r̶̼̭͔͉̮̥̰̿̈́̎̑ ̷̤̮̥̇a̵̧̙͖͕̣͆͌͒͒̕ ̷̨̻̭̣͚̯͎̎̈́͠c̶̡̼͎̫̼̮̒̀̋̋͒ȍ̴̧̝̰ý̴̛̛̮o̷̤̫̫͈͋̈́̿͛͐͒̚t̴͇̤͇̺̪̦̅͛̄̍e̷͔͙̫̝̐̄ ̵̧͈̯̼͕̌̌̌̃̏̆͠ȏ̵̦͔̮̭̄̓͛̉r̸̝̝̟͙̻̬͂̕ ̷͖̦̍̑̈́̾̃ţ̵̱̎͂̈́̓͝w̵̤̬̥̱̏͑̊̃̒̒̚o̷̪̣̰̓̒͋ ̸̱͇̘̰̼̿̀̕s̷̫̝̏̍͘ǹ̷̦ï̷̹̓͋̆͑͝ć̵̡̹̬͖͖̝̓̆͒̀̀͝k̶̦̞̭͈̰͖̈́̅̈̾͌͛̿e̷͔̣̫̜̰̽̓̉͐͋r̴̲͚̐̿i̷̼̱̖͑̈́͋̐n̶̹̭̗̎̅̋̔̏g̴͖̱̳͖̘̙ ̵͍̓̄̎̚̕ą̶̟͎̭̠̍̂̓̚͘͜s̷̢̜̗̣͓̦͌̉̊̈́̑̚ ̷̰̙͇̤̜̺͇̑̄̉͋̽͝t̵͍̜̤̊̌̽̀͜ͅḧ̴͍́̽̈́͜e̶̡̯̼͒͜ỹ̷͉̰̖̣̝͓̆̆͑̄͊ ̴̭̭̏̈́͜͝p̸̜̪̲͕̼̎̀̔́͋̕͘ĺ̸̡̩͕̗o̵͙͉̹̰̘̾́̎͋̚ͅt̴̮̲̜̣̗̋͒̽̑t̵͖̗̮̙͎͚̮̅͌̒̈͋̕ë̶̡́̈́̆d̸͕̞͖͓̞́̊̓̐͠ ̴͖̠̃t̴̳̽h̴̝̼̪̐̇̏e̶̙͘i̴̧̧͋̏̌r̸̫̆̃̀̓̆̈́ ̷̮͙͎̼͈l̸͖͚̇̄̉͝͠ą̷̼̘̜̞̑̆̅̓̀̎ẗ̵̪̺͕́e̸̡͕͓̻̠̓̀̌̈́͂̀-̴̼͋͋̿̔̄̃̚n̷̨̡̰̋̈́̈́͛̃͛ͅi̸̢̬̱͒̇̿̑̏g̴̡̞̼̩̼̳̬͐͛͋̔̕͝h̷͕̯̟͆̋̎͠ͅt̶͕̗̟͌̄͛̒̕ ̶̨̰̙̗̜̎̉͜e̸̜̭͙̔̕ẍ̴̻̰͙͍͍̘́͝͠ç̷̒̉̽͒̌͌̂͜ư̶̤̩̰̘͔͛̽ͅr̸̨̫͉͎̬̫̭̄̐͌͌͒s̸̨̤̹͌́̎í̶̖̟̜̮ò̷̝̞̞̖̖̻̆̍͗̚n̷̨̳͇̖̂̀͋̓ş̷̙̬̱̥͐̊́,̵̧̛̛͓̲̖͙̲̮͆͛ ̸͎̝͌̒͋̃͛b̷̨͍͖͓̃̉̄ư̷͈͚̪̹̂̈́̀̕͠t̶̹̓̿̎̑̚ ̵̭̞̗̦̓̓̏͋̑̅s̷͙̖̽̓̈͑̔͐̋h̶̖̾͜ǫ̷̡̘̳̽̂û̴̡̖̍̉l̵͇̖̝̝͂̀̒͜͝ͅḑ̵̺͚̖̦̓͗͐͂̂͂ͅ ̴̼̙͕̮͉̝̼̇̍͝o̴̲̐n̷̛̻͖͕̣͍̂e̶̛͇͇̳̜͜ ̷̧̼̎̆s̵͖̹̏͒e̶̙͍̪͙̹̎̎ȩ̶̩̗͎̖͍͌͜ḱ̷̺͓̠̪̿̂͆̐̀͜ ̵̨̱͍̗̞̦͎̆̊͊̆̓͝t̶̪̳̓͐̈́h̴̢̛̳̮̬̝͓͋͂̔ẽ̶͓m̴̘̣̩̥̱͊͑͐ ̸̨̢̛̫̲̤͙̒o̴̢̹̟̒ư̶̡̱̼͎̪͈͇̂̾̆͐̿̿t̴̡̬̞̥̤̙͊̾̈́̔̀̕,̷̬̥́̿̎́ ̷̝͇͆̉̉̈́͌ṱ̷̡̜̹͈̱͑͑̿́͛͜h̷̢̦̾̌͊͝e̴͉̣͕̘͑̄ỷ̶̝͗’̷͔̥̯̭͕̈́͐̅̆͆͘͜͝d̷̨͈̘̝̘̄ͅ ̷̜̬̣̺̰̥͚͂͒̈́̑̕f̸̘͖̍̅̓̓̃͝ͅi̴͉̲͆̐n̸̨͗d̶͓̪̤̈́̑̈ ̴̥̯̯̜̙̯͐̿͊̈́͆̕͠n̸̼͕̩̥̙̄̃̂͝ơ̵̱̦͔̤̪̺͙͂̑̅̎̈́̓ẗ̵̘͚́̀͐̈́h̴̢̨͌̎͛͆̇ị̷̘͋̇́̈́n̵͕̏̒̽̍͠͠ģ̸̛͓̣͔̥͋͝
The department store is bigger than I remember, upon arrival. However, the locations of all the smaller stores within remain the same, and the stores within those stores, and the stores within those stores, and the storesssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss I find my favorite in the fourth iteration. They’re selling the fall fashions, all the warm reds and oranges. The darker things will be far back, far out of sight from those who don’t want to see it, smell it, hear it, acknowledge it exists, things likeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee the sweater, when I try it on, is warm. There’s a gash in the back for an injury I don’t have from when the b̴̡̧̨̢̳̦̺͍͙̖̤̣͙͖̼̣͎̩͍͓̘̋̓̽̽͋̇͠ḷ̴̥͔̹̠̯̜͉̀͊͆͆̽͂̃̓̑̎́͘ͅą̵̥̘̜̯̰̜̠͉̠̗͔͉̩̲̟͚̄̈́̅̽̽́̆̓̂̔͜ͅͅd̷̜̝̝͍̙̳̫̆̈́̓̐̓̏͋͋̈́̈́̆͗͂̋͌̉͂̋̍͒̚͝ͅͅë̶̗̜͇̳̖̹̜̞̫͈̱̣̫̺̟͈̥̉͆̈́̿̇̐̋̃͊͋̾̃͑̇͜͝͝͝ ̵̫̫̗͔̮̭͚̣̗̝̰̀̂̋̑̔͂̓͊͘͝͠ͅp̶̨̛̛͇̗͔̲͒̇͐̋̂̆͑͘͠͝ḭ̶̢̝̺͕̣͔͙͈̼͓͔͈̦͍͎͎̘̌̾͐̾̋̒͊͐̍͑͂́͋̾̅͘̕̚̕͠ͅẹ̸̻̤̞̤̫̜̗̇̋̂̽̽̃̒͆ṙ̷̛̰͒̉̆̅͛̀̌̀̅̈̽̈̒͑̉̋̿̚͠ĉ̴̛̫͐̌̆͌̉͆̄̓̎͌̅͌̚͝e̴̛̫͕͎̮̓̃̓́̃̀̃̓̀̕̚͝d̸̢̹̙̠͇̦̙͈͙͖̦͎͙̗̪̑̅̉͜ ̶̨̢̛͓͇̗͖͓͇͚̖͇͍͓̜̫̖͕͚̝̥̣̯̌̃̋̅̓͜͝m̴͇̳̼̜̲̻̾͗͑̈́̽̽̋́͌̌̃̀̏̈́̑̋͒̈́́͘͝ý̷̛̖̪̗͍̝͖͉̒̂̐̿͊̅͑̓͆͛̽͌̿̉̍̿̕̚ ̶̡̢̝̺͇̩͇̩̗̦̝͚̞͔̭̞͔͉̗̫͔͎̟̑̈́̈́̄͆̽̀͛̏͐̚̚͘͝b̷̗̰̲̖̈́̿̚ȁ̷̧̨̢̭͖̬̘̫̹̼̯͍̼͍̻̩̫̱͓̈͛͘c̸̢̗̠̦̤̻̗̼͍̈́̓̚ķ̶̛͇͈̣̣̱̣̱̜̭̀̒͛̋̾͘͜͜,̴̢̢̨̡͖̻̭̭̭͖̫̝̝̟̣̭͍͚̔͐̃͝͝͝ ̸̢̗͍̖̱̗̹͉̗̳̤͓͕̘͛͆͛͆̊̑̍̕͜͠ͅa̶̛̠̫̒̒͂̈͑͐͐̅͗̆͂̾̈̕͜͠ņ̴̦͍̬̥͔̦̳̪͕̗͔͆̃͂͒͘ͅḑ̸̹̹̲̻͙̤̮̹̬͍̝̉̃̿̀̆̃͑̄͝ ̶̙̹͑͌̅Ỉ̵̩͍̒͒̓̚͜ ̴̣͈͙͚͌̈́̍̔͂̾̈͝s̸̡̥̦͇̬̳̿̇̓̔̕t̶̙̪̹̩̰̺̺̳̣̻͍̤͓͖̀̐̏̆̌̈́͑̎̊̽͛̓͛̚ȯ̵̠͖͒͠p̸̮̹͉̭̦̹̺̖̼̲̯̭̩̟̑ͅp̷̧̡̡̛̼͉̰̭͈̻͇̳̠̠̝̽́ȩ̶̯̗̞̓͐̃̑̉̇̈́̽̒͊̍̂̿̐̐̍͑͊͠d̶̢̢͖͉͙̰̩̠̲͍͍͉̙̟͙̳̗̬̑͑̐̿̆͌̑̀̐͌̉̍̏̒̇̔͂̒̕ͅ ̴̡̡̼̱̱̞̦̺̱̖̠̜͈̭̼̫̻̖͚̹̣̹͒̆͗̂̋͐̆̈́̾̎̋̉̍̆̎s̷̡̠͚̄͋͋̍͋̇̆̄̇͝ḧ̷̼̜́̿͌̓͒̓̄̃͋̂̅͐̃̆͌͗̉̒͘̕͠ͅö̸̧͕͇̳̪͖̭̖͕̻̲̮̫͓̖̠̗̟̣̯́̆̏̈́̾͒̓͑̎̒̊̋͒̓͐̓͐͠r̵̝̻̯̭̦͙͕̻͕̦̖͙͙̞̝̤̝͊̎̏͒ͅt̴̝̗̣̯̱͉̬͊͘,̶̝̌̐̒̉͐̓̂̎̋̄̀̒̌̒͛̋̾͒͌͝ ̸̪̱̳̦̦̰̣̅͐̍̎̋͂̏̈́̇͝c̶̨̛̯͉̻̼̜͉̯̥͓̰͖̗̜̳̏͛̇̿͐̉͑ͅl̷͉̯̟̹̀̇́̿̇͛̒̍̾̽̅̔̔͆̍̑̎͠û̷̢̨̪̙͔̥̥͉͇͈͖͕͚̔̃̓͑͛͊̍͜͜ť̶̮͍̈́ͅc̶͖͓̙̩̤̓̔̊̄͜h̷̝̱̼̮̮͔͉̙͔̳͔͓̳̱̲̗͇̫̬͖͓̆̆ī̶̢̛̖͑͂͆͗̽̇̍͠͠͠ͅn̵̟̼̘̭̭͋g̷̢̜̙̘̗̼̬̞̞͓̲̩̫̮͙̤͙̤̙͐́̊̊͒̉̀̓̓̍͋̚̚͘̕͜͜͜ͅ ̷̢̖̘̮̮̮͍̬̪͇̉̍̅͗̾̾̀͂̊̚m̶̧̛̫̤̱̯̮̳͉͉͛͋̋̐̓̚͠y̸̢̨̻̬̞̞͓̣͉̤̱͎̬̣̪͙̠̗̖̟̰̠͈̔̅̈́̀͂̒͊͂̈́͗̆̈́̕̚̚͝ ̵̛͉̽̋̽̊̋̌̆͑͗̌̒̒̋̓́̐͝͠ç̶̫͓͖̬̥̋̾̾̎̔̑͋̋́̆͋́̇̽̀͜͝h̶̡̼͇̜̩͍͍͖̟͖̖̦̦̘̜̺̪̣̜̳͚̓͋̇̆̇̃͋̌̍̿̊̃̈́̕̕͜e̵͈̥͂̍̀̄̄̏̓̂̑̆̒̍̒̋̚̕͠s̴͔̄̍̂̈͊̄t̸͇͇̃̇̄̐̌̉̔̋̈̓̒̃̈̆̉̃͊̑̈̾͒͒͜ ̵̹̞̻̜̓̽̇̃̌̆ã̸̢̨̝̠̣̣̭̣͖̪͈̖̘̭͓̭̗̞̼͐͋̏̐̚ͅͅs̴̡̨̮̬̤̣̤̖̩̱͔̹̞̙̰̱̞̥͕͕̳̣͓̋̆͛͛̽̀̾͂̌͊͌̊̚ ̴̩͍͓̖͛͑͗̋̾̄̈͋͒̉̐͗̚͝ỉ̵̡̨̡̡̘̖̖͔̰̻̲̼̘̱̮̱̐̃̈́̈́͌͊̎͘͜ͅͅf̴̙̮͚̲̪̩̯̪͔͓̝̏͋̿̓̈́̋̍̔̀̈́̾̍̏͐̾͌͌͘̕̕̚͝ͅ ̷̧̛̜̥̠͕͎̗̪̰̼͙̻̟̭̮̻̺̭̪̔̾̊̽̊̓͒̊̒̾̇͘͜͠͝ͅi̵͍͌̔̑̐͋̉̋͗͂̇̎̉͘t̴̡̳͓̞̻̜͔̟̙̬͈̲̦͕̙͓͆̐̈́̓͒̅͋͘ ̶̜͉̳̦̜̤̜̼̖͚͈̫̗͒͌̇̈́̔̚͠w̶̨̦̟̩̥̯̯̦͓͚̿̍̒̋́͒̓̚a̵̧̧̧̭̖͚̘̞͇͕̬̫̻̙͇̣̠̳͐̐̽̒̄̈́͂̎̑́͂̇͒͑̓͘̕̕͜ş̵̢̥͍̖̮͚͕̜͖̰̲̭̻̈́̒̇̈́̄̈́ ̴̢̨̢̛͔̪̖̩̲̣̱̈́̈́̄͛̐̉͑̅͒͌́͒͂͘̕f̴̢̮͔̰̙̬̮͎͚̣̤̦̙̾̽͌̉̉́͊̽̽̓̚͜͜ͅi̶̛̩͎̊̃̎͐̃͆̾͂̊̉̋̕͝l̶̹̙̰͇͔̗̞͔͈͑͜l̸̛̩̠̖̜̼̼̹̺̼̤̱̱̲̺̝̟͙͈̜̟̄͗̔̇̏̽̑̎̈́̾̈͗̈́̇̓͛̋̌͝ͅę̷̣̗̝̻͍̦̪͕͔̞̝͇̠̺̪͕̏̌͊͛͗̽̀͑͝͝͝ͅd̴͓͍̭̟͎̘͎̤̼̜̺̈́͐̒̎̂̄̆̽͂͆̅̃͑̊̍̌͋͊͗͠ ̷̢̛̙̼͉̣̘̗̟̤̮̖̰̩̠̲̎̾̈́̊̍͑̎̃̾̋̇͗͒̓̓̍̈́̾̽̇͝ẅ̵̢͍̭̤̺̰͈̬̘͕͙͎̠́̑͜į̵̨̧̡̨͉̟̣͍̬̪͈̥̥̭̣͎̬͔̙̊̋̏̍͆̍͌̓̑̌̋͆̓̂̄́̆̂͘͠t̸̨̢̛̝̙̦̖̟͓̯̞̫͚͖̱̳̠̲̥͌h̶̡̡͖̥͖͓͉͚̤̰̤̗̦͉͖̤͙̻̥̋̏́̾̅̂̈́̋̉̚̚ͅ ̸̧̹̼̥̳̹̭̩͈͎̠̣̼̭̤̰̱̙̮̪̝̖̗̓̓̈́̎r̴̛̖̀̋̒͋̽͛̏̈̌̍̊̔̊̇̈̚̚͝͝ͅȏ̵̝͈̘̟̔͐̿̌̚͠d̵̨̜̤͚͓̲͊͗̌͐̽̋͑͊̔͗̆͆͘͝͝ȩ̷͓͉͎̟̞̖̤̜̼̘̟̠̱̱̜̔͗͂͜͜ṉ̸̡̯̭̩̲̪̫̈́́͐̈́̄͜͝͠t̷̢̡̨͈͖̙̩͙̳͗̊́͌̆̊͆͗̀̅͂̈́̃̏͒͛̎͛̊̋̚̕s̴̡̨͚̼̱͔̲̯͇̟̯̻̪̩̰̥̊̾̆̃͠.̵̦̻͚̝̻̼̠̦̻̺̞̦̬͙̲̍̓̎͑́͛͗͗̈́̇͝ ̷̢̟̞̫̖̙̜̆M̴̧̢͎͙͚̘̖̥͔͍̙̞̗̻̝̥̘̺̐̆̅̃̇̂͋̍̋͜ͅy̸̨̢̡͙̯̣̦͕͉̤̹̫͖͙̣͙̗̩̓͗̊̓̎̑͛̀̊̕ ̶̢̺̗͈͋͗͒̄̓̀͝͠ͅb̸͉̬̻̗̝̹͔͋̀́̏͑̄̒̋̑͊r̷̟̖͉͇̗̟̰̬̙͈̯̖̯̈̐̉̓̐͐̋̂̎̇͌̇͊͗͑͒̌̅͘͜͠e̶̢̧̧̧̨̛̻͉̝̖͉͇̺̝͕̠̙̺̬̪̺̗̝̅̓̽̈͋͑͆̿̍̂͜͠a̸̛̛͚̟͚̙̯̍̈́͋̀̋̎͗̂̈́̓̑͌̀̆̑͘͝͠͠t̷̬̠̫̭̱̝̪̞͔͇͛͑͗͛̉̽̍̈́̐͛͑̋̄͑̋̉̈̃h̷̨̛̗̰̾̓̆̒̿̐̏̏͜i̷̢̨̢̜̩̣͓̻̥̟̻̹͇̼͚͍̮̮͈̓͑̎̋̈̿̀͂̑̋ͅͅn̸̨̳̮̲̞̰̺͚̥̝͖̲̳̣͔͕̘̣̩̤̤̲̙̈́̈͗͠g̴͚̝͕̮̞̟̈́̈͌̇́̊́̈̚͘͝ͅ ̶̫̺͔͎͖͎̩͎͍̯͔̬̰̱̟̌͐͂̉̎͆̚͝b̸̧̛̻̬͈̪̹͍͎͛̏͒̂͗͐̌̏͒͌͗̑̍̾͘͘͜e̸̡̨̬͚̟͍͙̫̖͔̭͕͓̮̦̥̳̤̮̺̔͋͒͜c̴̼̋̈́̍̆̂̈́̉̐̈́͛̈̈́̊̐̔͛̔̀̽͋̑͝a̴̪͚͓̽́̋͂̑̾͌̃̽͋̍̓͊͐̑̚͝͝m̸̦̆̅̌͂̃̍͑̉̊̈̄̋̚͘ȩ̵̩̘͍̮̯̩̹̖̥̙̱̱͓͐̆̋͊͆͊͜͝͝ ̸̬̰͚̭̟̜̼̘̥͆͗̍̓̾̋̑̏̎̕͝͠r̵̢̨̛̳̥̣̪̀́̈́̆̐̋̄͌̑̈̆̋̆̂͝ą̵̥͖̘͓̰̽̊̽͒̕̚͜g̵̛̞͇̬̪̈͊̓̌́͝͝g̵̥̪̫̣͖͐̍̓̒̍͗͒͐̿͋̏͝e̷͖̠̖̝͙̺̓̅͊̌̅́̈̚d̸͉̱̠̅͐͌̇̄̓̏̋̊̽͝͠ ̸̥͍̓̓̉̅͗̀͒̈́͋͝a̶͈̺̞̙͉̣̗̭̮̭͙̬̤̾͒̈́̈́̿̇͋͋͋͜͝͠n̵̢̡̻̫̦̦̯̰̳̹̺͓̓͋̂̿̌͒̀̆̎̈̂́̐̓d̷̢̫̃͐͂͗̏̓̇͒̾̈́͛́̔̓͌̌̍̇̂̿͠ ̶̨͙̺̱̱̜̠͕͖͚̟̻̬̔͛̈̿͑͊̾̋͒̄̃̂͗̔̈́͑̕͝͝͝l̶̢̤̩͇̜̺̠̺̗̙͎͕̠̪͎͇͍̭͒͋̋̑̊̽̅̊̅͗̕͘a̴̛̹̤͔̺̭̼̬̬͙͎͋̑̒̄̑̆̎̽̐̒̑̑͘͝b̸̧̧̙͙̬̲͔̩̥̖̼̦̳̬̮͓̐̓̿̄̽̄͊̏̃͆̀̚ͅo̸̢̧̧̘̱̳̫̯͚͍̯͕̳̮̰͎͇͊̂̾̃̓͗͘͜r̸̙͎̘̭̥͓͖̲͙͍͛̍̽̇͗ę̴̢͈̹̟̠̼̯̏͑̾̆̅̅̓̈͒̈́ͅd̷̢̢̧͈̠̯̘̯̞̟̖̬͖̜̗̙͔͓͓͖̥̈͋̒͛͛̈́͝ͅ,̷̳͕̜̰̮̞̖̞̤͙͈̃̅̇̇͑̽̓̃́ ̷̭͔̞͇̮̯̋̃́̄̑͐͆̊̒̌͒̽͛̉͋̅̈́̕͜ͅa̸͎̬͈̘̞̘͕̝̙͔̠̱̺̤̣̱̔̓̓̄͛̃ͅͅn̴̢̜̳̹͎͙̻̟̮͖̪̳̼̱͈̺͔͐̏̂̋̊͊͐̀̔̍͑̃͊͗̈́̚̕̚̚d̵̲̘̯̟̻̣̳̠̗̂͆̈́͋̄̓̈́̒̆͛̅̚͜͜ ̵̡̦͈̅̐̋̂̽͝b̵̡̧̙̲̯̥͉̲̝̝̥̠̰̐̄̔̽̃̀̍̔̊̊̌̈́͠͝͝ͅl̴̡̡̢̛̲͉͇͔̻̖̼̝̟͙̪̈̾͋̉̿͂͗̿͋̋̂̆͌̓̎̂̌͌͒͜ő̶͈͇͙̹͚̟̫͍͆͂̑̄̊͘ơ̸̧̤̣̓̈́͑̆̓̂̊͆̑̓̉̿̋̈́̕d̷̖̬̤̹͔͓̟͖̐́̈́̂͋̃̋͆͋̊̉̓̄̃͌͐̉̉̀͝͝͝ ̶̡̨͖͉͖̞̟̹̱͉͇̜̣̗̠̠͖̄͂̍̓͛̿̅̽̏̽̂̿̑̋͝͝͠ͅͅp̷̼̳͔̟͙̥̩̭̟̱̙̣̼͓͈͇̠̲̊͐̈̎͗̂̾̃̄̿͒̊̋̌̇͗̂̆͜͜͠͠ͅo̸̢̙͖͇̻̻͈͓̤̪̭͍̬̰̎̉͗̎͑̅̃͊̌̽̍́͐͛̕̚͝͝ơ̸̡̧̨̛͇̰̗̲̣̥͔̟̭̝̑̈̓͗̍̃̿̅͛̐̃̽̾̋l̶̨̟̯̟͔̓̈͂͒̍͂͗͆̐̀̌̈̎̔̔͝͝e̶̫̮͊̑̈́̏͒̄̽͗͘͠d̴̫̊̋͛̓̃͐̅͂̉̒͗͐́̚͘ ̷̨͇͇̟̜̮͓͔̫̫̦͈̣̆̎̊́̒̍̌̍̍̍͠͠ͅf̸̧̢̨̛͍̣̰̼̼̬̭͖͍̘͈̦̪͍̱̮͙͔̑͛̔͌̏̈́̄̈̅͌̏̃̔̇̓̄͒̕͝ͅͅr̶͓̮̗̻̺̼͓̼͈̳̰̞̦̪͑͆̈o̸̥̯̫̼͍̐̈́̌͛̉̚͜m̴̛̥̰̻̙͍̤̲̂̽̒͛͗̈̓͌̇̇̈́̌͘̚͜ ̵̢̡̢̺̫̱͉̥̼̯̝̙̼̞̫̼̔̓͆̓̐̆̽͜͜t̶̨͕̯͍̩̦̝̖͈̪̫̓̈́̂͊̌͊̄͂̑̈́̇̑̕h̷̨̡̰̰̪̹̭̟̰̘͓͇͔͚͍̹͓̬́͗̐̅̌̄̃̔̚͠͝e̸̛̺̙̟̘̐̒̓̓͂̐̽̔͛̉͌̔̀͘̕͝ ̸͇̣̜̭͓̞͚̘̤͚̗͓͙̣̐̅͋̈́͆͒͆̌̌̊͛͐̾̑͂̕̚͠w̵̢͎͖͕̪̳̅̑͒̿̃̂̿o̴͉͚̞̰̦͎̲̣̳̭̫͖͒̔͋͊ù̷̡̗̘͉̋͛̐͝ͅņ̴̣̳̭̪̰̮̯͚̮͔̖̩̺̠̔͊̓͊̑̈́̾́͑̈́͛̄̇̈́́̉̈́͘̚̕͜͜͜͝͝d̴̼̀̎̾̌̌̑̑͝͝,̸͖͚̺͐̃̒̊̉͒͐͆̒̃͛̒̇̆̑̊̃͠͝ ̶̟̺͔̩͎̯̣͉̮̜̪̅͑̾̽͂̿̈́ţ̷̧̩͔̤͉̤̩̲͍̖̬͈̫̟͇͆̄͛̇́͑r̷̢̡̘̜̟̘͍̖̹̦̲͖̻̺͎̝͈̲̞͙̒̎̍į̷̡̢̛̫͈͙̯͕͚͍̺̙̰̘̦̼̙̣̩͇̺̋͐̒̆̆͐̂̔̇͛͛̓̆͑̓̑̕͘͜͝͝ĉ̵̨̤̹̖͔̬̎͑̊͗̌͗̾̽̍̀̒̆̂k̵̝̤̺̬̜̤͙̯̮̬̹̫̘̳͔̼̪̄̈́̕ͅļ̴͈͈͈͚̤̘̮̹̥̫͙͖̹̝͎̗̦̟̺͒̃̆̐̈́̏̾̃̎͂̈́̂́̇̈́͊̂͑͘͜͠͠ͅi̴̢̟͓̯͖̙̣̝̪̭̗̼̦̗̗̝̥͉̔̈͛͘͝ͅͅn̷̨̡͖̻͎̞̺̪͔̳̝̦̣̙̞͙̺̪̏͊̈́̃͆̅́̇̇̕͘͝͝ͅg̵͚̾̾̊̄̇̈́͒̈́̀̾̐͌͐͝͝ ̸̧̧̡̨̫̤̟̲̏d̸̘̋̾̍͑͒̚ǒ̴̡͕̺̥̟̱̗̦̦̩̃w̸̧̰̙̜̮̱̹̱͔̭̬̻̺͈̜͇̙͂͆̋̎̍̂͑͛̚̕͝n̵̼̦̣̪̠̜͈͉̫͎͍̟͉̬̣͚̽̓̊͂̍̓̎̀̈̾̚͠n̷̡͕͇̣̼̘̘͎̳̦͔͚̻̩̬̺̹̦̠̞̮͕̫̓̏͌̀̑̊̒͊̔͂͒̀̿̀̐̑̊̕͝͝͝n̵̫̜͔͚̰̱̙͕͇̪̖̳̭̥̠̭͍͑̈́̍́͘̕͜͜ǹ̷̢̙̗̖̗̹̠͕̣͖̘̣̬̻̗̱̮͕̳̏̓̐͛͊̉͋̈͐̎̑͌̓́̍̿̊͘̕͝ņ̸̧̨̱̰̩͚̜͚͕̏̓̊̾̈́̐́̽̌͋́̅̎̒̊̀̇̓͘͝͠͠ṉ̵̙̯̩̰͉͑̽̾̽̆̅̈́̋͛͆̎͘̚ñ̵̪̌̓̽̅̋̉̚͠͝n̶̨̡̛͖̬̘̘̝̞̹̩̯̦̩͍̝̤̞͕̯̩̲͈͊̐̌̄͑̃̈́̆̀̾͘̚̚͜͝n̶̨͕̲̟͔̩̘͓̳̽̄̾̔͜ͅn̷̡̯̣͓͇͐̑̈́͒͗̒͒̌̇͂̎͝͝͝͠͝n̶͕͙͇̣̹̳̝͍̘̤̪͋̍̔͒̐͘͝n̵̨͔͕̣͙̱̼̪̪̤̲̙̝̥̤͐͊̐̆̍̀̔͋͊͐͂͆͛̀̂̎̍̐̏͂̕͘͜ͅͅṇ̴̨̨̛͇̮͈̗̲̹͔̳̠̠͈̤̙̰͕͇̹̹̼͐̿̍̈̍́͐̀̔̔̐̕͠ͅn̵̡̢͕̩̳̳͙̊̿̍̉̉͑̓̈̂̑̑͊͗̋͗͂̓̚͠n̸̨̧̝̥̙̣͖͚̟͎͔̼͇̬̝̙̟̙̝̼̯̿̾̍͐̈͛̽̈n̴̡̨̩̮̥͉͔̦͈̹̗͓̲͓̮̳͉̝̈́̇̎̅̽͋̃͑̇̏̈́̉̍̑̚̚̕͠ͅñ̷̠̼̿̓͊͆̍͊̔͊̂͊̒̄͒̑̚̕͜͝͝n̷̨̡̧̛͙̯̲͓̬̮̜̠͖̳̺̮̩̪̞̱͊̓͌̋̿̊̍͂̿͗̏̓͆͑̚͜͠n̴̥͚͚̱͈̰̜̹̟͓̯͚̮̠̤̻̣̪͚͈͂͂̀̅̾̾͛̋̈̒͆̾̾̍̄͋̚̕̚͝ǹ̸̛̼̗̮̳̲̀̐͐̆̐̉̈́͊̔̏̊̐͝͠n̴͕̺͎̮̰̹̗̺̪̤̦̞͉̟̼͇̽͂̿̈́͛̐̚͘͜ͅń̷̯̠̤̪͍̣͚̭̯͕͎̩n̷͕̹͕̳͔̣̣͎̰̟͉͎̺͆̔̇͊̅̔̏̈́͆̅̽̒͐̈̏͛͘͜͜͝
I decide I’m not particular about this style. I put it back on the rack where I found it. A̴̛̦͖͖͖͐̋n̵̢̛͔̙̞̖̙͚̥̲̟̲͛̏̊̄̈́͋̅̑̾̆ͅ ̸̧̛̞̻̲̑̈́̇̓̈́̈́́̓̾̎̇͋͛͐̿̿͂͝͠a̶̧̻͈̣͙͎͕͍͍̱̹͔̘͐͜͝ͅb̸̛̛̤̹̓͗̅͛̓̅̔̄̏̑̄̆̂͐͊̇̾̽͗͜͠ǫ̴̹͓̦̙̬̜̻̣͇͙̀͊̔̅͐̅̾̀̈̌͋̈́̓̃̌̃̎ͅm̸̮̗̦̜̮͉͎̘͆̓̂̊̂̈́̈́͛͝ͅi̴̹͐̽̊͒̽̌̎̅̈́͛ṇ̴̢̗̹̙̖̻̲̼͇̞͔͈͇̱̜͗͗̊̑͗̌͗̉̾͘ͅa̶̢̨̛̞͔̥̥̭͖͙͍̹̺͋͆̅̎̉̓͘͝t̴̢̧̡̰͍͉̟͈̻̙̪̟̯̤̥͓̰̲̣͑͌͊̈́̂̃̈́̍̃̌͆͋͑̽͊̂̀̇̕͜͝͠ͅi̴̧̦̺̯͔̘̼̥͕̺̦͙̝͙͉͕̱̞̣̩̙̐͊̂͂͂̚͘ͅơ̴̧̗̺͖̫͇̱̬̯̗̙̣̄̑͊̕n̸̢̛͈̦̲͍̭͋͗̓̅̈̎̏̔̆̈́̈́͊́̍͐̐͂̈́̊͝͝,̶̭͓̪̤̰̺̞͕͕͈͓̟̖͗̀̍̄͐̊͂͜ ̴̘̙͋ş̴̧̨̫̲̜̙̖͙̝̮̲͍͓̤͈̫̥̻̙̍̌̿͐̐̾̈́̉̕͜͝ù̶̡̨̧̗̼͓͔̗̮̤͙̱̝͚̖̰͕͈̯̭̖̍͋̈͐͑̇͌͆͘͘͝ͅb̴̨̨̧̛̼͎͖̯͍͇́̈́̓͝-̸̨͕̖̭͕̭̘͕̜̼̠̱̫͓̣̥̿̿̎͂̆͘ͅͅh̴̰̪͕͔̠̤̳̽͜ü̷̧̬̤͕̪͎̖͚̤̳̞̬̹̠̽̾̀̑̑͜͝m̴̨͔̺̟̩̰͎̲̥̟̥̗̙̯͔̜̈́̓̆̋̃͊̅̏͗̃̉͐͂̌̾̿̿̐̅̚͠à̴̡̡̨̤̟͙̖̦̻̗̣̘͇͉͔̹̝̖̏́̽̓͐̿͛͛̓̒̉͘̕͘ņ̷̧̛͔̥̜̩͖̫̞̜͖͖̠̗̺̻̈́ wouldn’t look good in that style. Perhaps the turtlenecks will give me more luck and leniency. I hadn’t looked good in V necks or belly shirts since the last few ones.
I scour the racks in search of anything that would look good on me, eventually finding one with the crest. It takes all of me off guard. Gently, I run a finger over the edges of the embroidery, thinking to Ṫ̵̡̢̡̲͉̯̭̭̠̟̇̑̊̓̚̚ͅḫ̷̢̠̓i̵̡̢̧̧͔̯̦̣̭̍̄̿͌̚ṟ̵̢͔̩̯͒̉̑̽͒̓̒̃͋͛d̵͎͖͔̻̀ ̸̢̧͚̞͇̺͕̲̙͕̟̍̊͊͒͝S̶̯͋̑͜ẗ̶͉̼͎̙̹̞̻̳̬́̉̀́̌r̶̢̪̤̥̘̐͒̑͂̕e̴̛̜̳͙̞͉̲͔̩̍͗̊̓͐̆̑̄͗͊ĕ̷͔̰̗͓̬̪͐̈́̀̾̌̒̀͠t̷̯͇̮̎̑͒̇͛̚͝ͅ ̷̢̫̰͉̲̞͖̘̖̒̋̊͐͐͗̔͒̄͘͜͝͝S̴̨̛̠̪͉̲̲̭̖̭̜͖̀͐͗͝ͅã̶̻̪̮͙̪̍͒͐̎͊͛̕͝͠ḭ̴͈͑̿̑̈́ņ̴̛̟̠͋͋͗͋͆̚͘͝t̵̯͛̃̽͘͠͠s̷̮̹̖̣̳̻͖̀̇,̵̡̧̖̯͉͙̫͍̦̂́̃͊́͘͜͝͝͝”̵̧̇̐ ̶̣̺̺͙̬̦͐̈́͋J̷̨͈͓̜̱̖͕̺̑ȕ̵͎̟͚͔̬̆͐̐͛̒́l̵̺͕̈́̎́í̶̢̯̮̺̞̘̝̥͓̗̿͂̒̒͒ͅư̵͕̻͎̽̅͗̅̂̅̉̓͘ṣ̵̡̘̺̘̖͔͖̄̏̋͂̓̑͋ ̴̩̖̾̔͑ċ̵̩̭̟̪̠͍̜̏́̾̍̚͠͠ǫ̷͓̜͕͈̳̤̝̖̳̗̯̏̑̃ň̴̞̬̥̩͕̲̞̖̣̓̐̊̿̑̾̒͝ģ̵͈̙͎̞͓̜̹̗̿̂r̸̩̖̩̼̀̽͌̈͐̆̚͠a̸͙͇̻͓̹̠̾̄͋̇̈́̃͛̓̿̿̅͂t̷̤̬̲̲̜̗͋̔̇̊̋͗̓̆̔̋͜u̸̢̘̻̙͛̒̀̒͌l̶̝͍̤͖̗͔̥͓̺͂̆͛͜ä̴̛͎̝͖̱̟́̂͛ͅt̸͕̺̩̣̓̅e̸̗̰̍̐̔̐́ḑ̶͔͓̰̿̈́̎͗͛̾ ̶̛̛̪̙͓͕͔̪̈̒̏͆̃͘͝͠h̴̡̪̘̞͎̲̒̒̏̈͋̚e̴̼͙̕̕͘r̷͙͉̣͔̅̆͆̚ ̵͎͎̺̥̘̎ą̵̛́̎͆̐́s̶̘͕̞̬͙̲̖̙͔̔̒̋̽͑̍̕͠ ̸̻̊̕h̴̢͈̭͓̯̼̺͌̉̂̽̂̌ë̴̖͚̮̌̒̓̆̚͝ ̷̟̯̥͚̽̎̔͑͋̔̽̌̚̕̚ḁ̸̢̱̳͈̼͚̺̲͕̊̃͌̚p̸̹̩̺̺̔̏̆͆̚͝ṕ̶̹̈́͆̒̆͘̚͠r̷̡̙̼͔̭͓̝͕̫̥̳̊ͅo̴̧͍̜͇͔̗̠͓̘͍͙͊̎̋̓̌̍͐͒͒̓ͅa̴̡̭̗̞͇̠̗͍̬̹̞̾̅̾̅́͑̇̍̇͊̚̕ç̸͕͚͚̟͖̻͗̈́͜ḣ̸̨͕̗̫̫̯̤̙̗͎͋̿͗̋͝͠͝e̸̛͇̪̓͂́̔͜ḍ̵̹̦͉̯͓̫͎͓́͛̏̅̔̆̾͝͝͝͠,̴̣͚̗̾͒̈́̉ ̷͚̩͓͍́̄̏͗͘ḯ̶̢͔̝̞̻̠̲͘n̵̡̨̛͔̜̙̬͇̩̝̼͖̔̔t̵̤̟̥̗̥͖̯͋̋̿́ȇ̷̆̎̈́́̎̈́͜ŕ̷̜̥̙̞̪̗̝͓̙̳̻͒̒̋̎͆̎͜r̴͔̯̙͚̞̗̦͙̩̙̘̿̈́͌̈͑͋̽̈́̆͘͝ų̶̧͕͎͓̯̒͋̅ͅp̷̛̹̣̟͑͛̓̾̎́ţ̸̢͙͈̝̻̠̹̑̍̏̀͑̿͝͝ĩ̵̡̗̼̩͖̣͕̗̂͐̓̀̌̓͘̚͠n̴̛̞̳̳̘͈̯͕̠̼̾̂͊̈́͊̿̾̚ͅͅg̵̡̛͈̲̭̖̹̼͕̓̅̔̆̂̚͜͝͝ ̷̳͔̮͎͉̫̬͜͝J̶̩̗̼͍̈̃̌̓̽̉͆͌͝o̷̡̨̫͓̻̦͊̚͝ḣ̸̢̡̤̜̮̭̤̟̗͗̌ͅn̶̢̡͍̺̥̟̗͙͘n̵̢̩͇̉͑͗̕͝y̸͕̼̜͖̯̼͔̝̺͉̝̬̾ ̶̮̪̮̯͇̲͚̈́͂̾̋̾̅̈́̌͠b̸̧̙̳̫͕͔̤̣̳̙̈́̆̓e̶̡̛̘̺̲͓̮̦̞̬̟͖͆̂̔͂̽̌̄̉̐͘͠f̴̢̡͓͙̹̩͍̤̤̘̕͘͝ọ̴̢̡̟̫̙̥̪͎̹̲͎̍̈́̔̍̍̐͛r̴̖̤̖̰͙̉̽̕̕ë̴̱̽͋̆̏̆́̈́̿̚ ̴̭̎̌̔͛͊̒͠ẗ̸͖̻̭͖͈̇̅̇̊͊͆̽͑̒͘h̷͇̽̒̌͂̈́͒́ī̵̧̺͇̬̬̫̝͔̘̮̏̇͌̈̋͋̈̿͘͘͜ͅṉ̶͚̥̣̲͉̭̱͇̰͇̳̏́̏͒̋̚g̷̡̪̬̦̫̻̺͋̌̂s̵͕͐ ̷̛̗̗̗̯̽͌̿̽͗̈́̽̐͜c̶̡̥̥̻̻̭̺̗͑̆͛̓̑͘o̸̪͒̃̏̽̌͋͆̍̑u̸̝̺̥̘̱̝̹̥̲̐͌̊̌̅̔̎͝l̶̪̖̺͛̾̅͛͠͝d̷̘̊̽̇̎̃͗͒͌͂̈ ̷̨̡̱͕͖̞͇̬̝̹͎̊̉͌̈͐͘ë̵̤́̑̾̌ş̷̢̲̯̤͈̼͉̝̪͘c̸̤̪̪̝̙͒͋̍̓͂̆̓̀̕͠a̴͎͒̓͠͠ļ̷̫͍̟̤̹̥̯͖̘̒̎͂͆͌͆̊a̸̧̦̼͓̪̋̍̃͝͝t̴͙̹̖͖̊͗̕̕͜ę̶̥̦͈̣̯̬̰̣̤͔̈́̈̀͒̑̾̈́̒̕͘͘,̵̧̮͍̗̗̞̹̥̪͇̗̪̃̈̊̓ ̶̠̰͌̈́͆͊͂̎̚͝å̷̪̤̰̔n̷̖͙̗̱̂̉̍́̋̅d̶̨̧̛̹̝̘͕̹͓̮́̅̾̋̄̾̃͘̚͠ ̵̻̞̘̘̹͈͔͈̟̮͙̊̆̑̂t̴̞̥̻̞̦̲̾̀̃͌͂̽̎͛͌͜ͅh̴̡̛͉͈̫̲̤͉̿̅͂̋͛͛̿͒̕e̵̡̥̹̣̪̜͙̾̄̄̉̕͠y̶̲̓
WILL THEY SHUT UP?
Stop fucking talking and shut your fucking mouth.
Hey, there’s no need to be rude. I’m just shopping. Please be nice.
I buy the turtleneck.
It is lunchtime, with all the stars in the sky. He doesn’t let me have anything today, so I punch him in the throat. He pounces on me and carves me again, but S̶̛̩̖̹̙͓͕̝̰͎̒̈̔͌̀̊̉͑̃̓͠h̶̞̠ȩ̶̣̰͍̥̅̍̈́̍̇̏͐͒͒̚͝’̶̙͓͚̙̟̯͙̈́̔̈́̚͝ś̸̨̭͚̪̣̹̩̩͎̅̕ ̸̩͙̺̳̥̦̯̙̝̽́͌͐a̸͙͒̍̍͐̓͛̌͘͠ ̸̨̥̤͎͈̗̐̍̀̅̌̈́͐̆̾S̷̡̛̻̈́̑̿̍̏̕͝͠ͅa̴͍̬̓͐͑͋̎̎͠i̷̡̘̲͈̳̥̍̑͂̇̎ǹ̶̹̤͙̙̹͉̣̱͉̆̾͘ṫ̴̩̩̟͔̟̫̲̭͚̙̪̔̽͋͛̒̓,̴͙̺̜̿͘ ̸̝̲̩̫͈͈̲̌̾͜f̷̟̣̭͔̦͇͕̫̩̎̊o̶̭͇͙̙̹̭̪͗͊͝r̴̛̠̪̤͉͖͉̗͒̄̒͗̀͠ ̶̪̪͔̰͛̄͊͆̔̃̾̕f̸̼̻̥̥̝̹̪̯͋͋̑͒ṹ̴̺̭̝̝̻̯͍̎ć̶̯̞̤͇̽͗̑͒̅͂̋̈͝͝k̵̦̣̼͊̄̽̈́͆̍̓’̶̝̞̜̾͊ͅs̷̢̢̳̪̳͇͈͚̓͒̈̔ ̵̝̫̓̈́̊͐͌̂̍̈́̈̕̕͜ͅs̶͚̰͈̫͖̀̆͒̓̎̀͘͝͠a̷̢̪̪̹͎̤̘͙̫͖͇͊̿͂̽̐͠k̶̻̼̣̂̅͗͛̍̈̀͗̄̒ę̵͕̜̱̳̠͓̂ͅ.̶̲̍͋͛̈́͊͝ ̴̟͎͆͝ͅS̸͍͈̗̈́͂a̴̧͓̘̮͕̳̞̼̞̙̬͑i̷̛̜̲͖͒̓͐̐̂̃̐͆͝n̴̨̡̻̯͚͎̹͖͉̖̅̋̃͋̈́̍̀͆̈̈t̶̳͖̩͛͒s̷̢̥͕̬̦̜̆̔̽͜ ̵͔͋͗̿͌̓͋c̴̨̢̼͎̘̗͍̭̭̫͎͈̒̽̐̚ą̶͈͇̥̀͜ͅņ̶̱̲͆ ̴̙̰̏̄̓̇̓t̵̡̞͎̳̰̯͍̝͎̭̝̰̏̋̐̒́̿̿͌͌͘̚a̸̛̛͕̯̦̍̃̄͋̇͘͠k̸̢͕̬͚͇̭̭̪̺͓̭̃̈́̂͜ę̷̧̙̲̗͓̟͚̭͐͒̈́̂͗̚͘ ̶̢̨̠̻̻̺͎͙̖͙̠̆̆͗̓̑͛͝͝͝a̵͔̙̝͙̘̯͆͒͐̔͗͠ ̷̳͖̼̦̫̱͙̦͉̯͂̌̂̓̆̋̕͜ͅp̷͇͕̾̽o̷̢͙̩͚͈̰͎̤̥̟̱̣̽͂̓̐̏u̷̡̞̰̔̔̑̌̐̊̎̓͜n̴̛͖̻̙̬̥̂͒̉͌̇̎d̵̳̻͚͓̤̥͓̙͉̟̈́̉͆͐̎͑͑́̈́ị̷̺̈́͠ņ̸̙͙͊̈́̇̉͜͝g̶̝̥̮͙̅ ̶̥͍̱͍̖̬̰̗̲̆̏͆̏͊̋͒̚͜͝͝͝ͅb̷̝͉̰͓̝͒̌͆́̀̅̎̓͂̚e̵̛͎̜̰͓̦̜̥̬͓̩͙͙̐̉̈́̑̅͐͋̾̇̓̓f̷͙͇̻̻̮̝͊̓͒͗̀̉͑͠ö̶̡̢̫̟̳̠͙̗͚͙͙́̅r̶̨̨̮̺̙̲͕̤̾̈́̈́̈́͜͠e̶̳̺̳͍͚̦̱̪͔̫͋̈́̏̑́̽͑͝ͅ ̸̡̙̼͎̠͔͓̫͔̩̒̿͊̌t̸͍͔̗̙͒̓̾̊͐̌h̸̛̲̳̻̣̰̞͒̇̀e̴͈̝͚͔̦̰̞̽̂̎̏y̴̢͈̱̝̙͐́̄͗̆͝’̴̪͍̓͝r̵͔̪͎͓̠̒͊͘͝ë̷͓́̋͑ ̷̨̛̘͎̥̘̱͎̅̇̈̉͂̽̓̽͘̕ͅo̶̩͚̪̰̯͎͗̈́͛ư̴̫̜͇̹̔̽̏̉͂̿̋͌͝͝ṯ̵͇͑̈̉ ̵̢̢̛̣̮̳͉͚̖̈͑̅̔̍́̂̓ḟ̷̝̤̗͚̠̞̲̘͙̬̈̌̑̉̇͐͊͋̚͜o̴̪̗̹͈̤̱̓̎̌̈́̈̎̑r̵̡̥͓̠̭̳͉̀̇͆̋̊̐̑̈̚ ̸̧̠̱͔̠͑̑͛̍̈̾̄̍́͆̚ẗ̸́̀̆̒̚ͅḧ̷̳̮̤̥̙̜́e̶̛̦̺̻̠̬͐̈͗̋̄̐̐́ ̶̰͕̠͎̺͙͕͕̈́̉̆̽̇̆́͝c̸̢̢̛͎̳͓̰̫̮͚ȯ̵̢̩̥̰̤͙͎̣̼͑͒́͆̓͒̀̄̈́̓̕͜ṷ̶͈̯̮͖̬̄͊̄̾͘͜n̷͔̳̭͇͕̒̿͜͝t̶̻̥̻͈͔͈̞̠̯̣͙͗̌.̵̢̛̘̣̟̥͔̠͔̦͉͕̲̆̈́̇̋͋ ̸͇͕̗͓̝͙̋͋̀͋͒͐͂͘S̴̯̘͍̗̻͇͙͓̖̘̖͇̆̓͂̈́̿̕͝h̵̢̢̜͍͓̘͚͖̼͓̙̭͂̅̇͝i̷̝̣̲͈̿̐͑̀̈͊̅̚ṭ̶̪̰̣̽͌̾ ̷͚̍͗̏l̶̫̦̹̣̈́̌̌̂̋̂̾ͅį̶͓̍̔̋͐̀̽̂͐͛͠k̴̨̮̮̫͓͉͍͂͆̇͌̄̚e̶̢̬̯͇͈̠̤̠̥̹̠̓̓ ̷̡͖̫̹̫̥̹͍̹̪̖̥́̾͐̿t̴̝̰̮͍͔̻̦̻̻̉͒͘ẖ̸͊͐͒͒̔i̸͖̺̲͇̝͚̊̈́̆̐̈͂͜ś̴̨̧̛̬̖̹͉͈͖͉͂̈́̀ ̷͖̂i̵̛̹͕̩̅̓̑s̷̢̖̬̟̝̜͚̖͓͇͈͉͑̈́̑̔̂ ̶̙̟͚̦͖͓̝̠̰̍̍̌́ͅn̴̰̪͙̮͕̝͍͈̫̐̈́͋̈́̀̅̋̄̈́͠o̷̳̿t̷̜̪̲̗̊͑̓̓̓̓̈́̊̆h̵̨̠̱̬͉̠̺̓̽̆͊͒͂̾͝i̸͇̻͔̜̝͂́̇̎͋̋̀̄̏̾̿̽ņ̷͈͔̫̘̙̥̖̓’̷̨̧̻̰̗̲͖̤̹̝̾̔͋̇̋
It’s the WRONG UNIVERSE.
But I’m always going to be--
I’m always going to know everything I do is
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Is
Is
-̴̛͈̗̤̤̠̽-̷̨̞͎̺̫͗Ḻ̴̼̜̣͔͋̓̾̉̋ơ̵̢̡̜̱̞̈́̍͑ọ̵̩̝̹̾̔͑̅̋ķ̵̹̖̳̟̈́̽͐̀͑ ̷̭̮̆͑a̴̹̭͋ẗ̷̯̥̳́ ̷̨̹̳̰̌͆̅â̴͇̜͉̪͎̇l̵̢̥͖̐l̷̢͙̹̯̭̈́͗̈̇ ̸̥̈́̃̇ẗ̸͉̩̪́̆̕͜͜h̴̯̜̖̘̦͊e̸̟̊̓ṣ̵̈̐̓̇ė̵̢͔̜͆͘ ̷̨̧̨̛̭͖́͋͋͑ò̵͎̥̑̈́̆ẗ̶̪̼̤̜͓́̌̒̋h̴̢̳̳̲͛͘͝e̷͎͍͕̫̐͐r̴̻̱̿̅̅ ̸̹̭̺̭͌v̸̳̗̞͈̯͌̏̌̌e̶͈͐͒̌͒r̸̡̰͖̱̥̆̋s̷̡̘̄̏͒̇̽ḯ̶͉͙̏̈́ǒ̵̜̤̹̞͐͌ṅ̷̡̞̤̀s̴̯̳͐ ̶̡̛̍ͅo̶̢̿͊͝f̸̘̻̼̆ ̴͕̯̳͌̔̊̆m̷̧̫̟̑̏͝ͅȩ̷͙̳͗͌͒͑.̵̜̰͑͝ ̵͈̯̯̭̉͒D̴̗̠̲̞͍̏͝ȏ̷̬̻̺͙̬̿̂̎͘ ̷̥̖̂͊ÿ̵͖͙́̐̌ŏ̸̧̮̘̺̩̑ử̷̹̪͝ͅ ̷̡͓̝̭̋̎̂s̷̫͚̩̔̉͋͠ȇ̶̢̨̙̻̥̽̿e̷̞̻̽̔͒̾ ̷̗͖̙͗͠ͅa̵͉̣̳̕n̸̡͙̱̞̄͘y̸̛͓͒t̵̟̦͘h̵͕͚̿̾i̶̗̘͌n̶̗͂̋͛̓͘g̵̜͇̎̾ ̷̘̍͋͌̀a̶̛̤̰͕͓͍̓̽̿s̴̻͑̂͑̀͝ ̷̱͈̈́̐͜ẃ̴̛̩͔̝̅̽͜ȅ̶̞̫͓̭ͅa̴͔̮̭̙̩͛̉k̷̡̪͐̈́̒ ̸̡̝̙̫̀͆͆̇å̵͈̹̈́s̷̳̠̬̘͙͆͑͛͂̈́ ̷̧͈̺̂͜ḿ̵̢̱̪͖̂̏ȩ̷̣̱̲̬̉?̸̪̪̺̊̎͑ ̶̢̼̦̿̐͠T̴̏̃̉͝ͅḥ̷̢̯͖̌̆̾a̸̛̜t̶̢̹̺͗̋͂͛ ̷̡̭̯̳͈̀ỏ̸̠̫̽̓͠n̷͕̥͇̤͌e̶̺͊͌̋͊͛,̶̼̩͉̪̍͊̈ ̷̤͇͌̋o̶̡̨͉̘̜̓̊̈͘͝v̸̎ͅe̵̙̳̥͈̙̅̿̂̀r̸̝͕̪̤͂̈́͜ ̵̖̜͍͌͘͝t̶̘̊̌ȟ̷̰͜è̵̢̼͚̞̠̌̉͝r̴̼̖̠͍͆͝é̵͍̱-̵͓̥̹͚̫̽͛͐͘-̸̧̮̭̙̉̈ ̴̘̪̜̑̔͝f̷̨̠͕͉̒͊͝ͅi̶̭͒̌͊̍̕r̵͓̖͆̚ͅs̵̭͍̘̈́͐̃ẗ̷̘̫̫̖̑̊̄ ̶͕͇̲̔̋̃͜m̶̘͔̼̪̋̈́͊͜͠a̶̲̤͋̈́̀ţ̶̫̉̈́͝e̵̡͉̩̋͝͝ ̷̣͈͉̫̬͒o̴͚̬̰͈͐̄̆n̸͔̪͖̟̣͂ ̴͔̎̿̓a̴̛͎͎̙̱̾̆̇ ̸̘͚̹̯͘͠͠͝p̸̯̺͕̼̪͒͗̚̚ȉ̵̬̞̰̇̒̚r̴̫͠ą̸́t̵̙̱͇̏ẹ̶͙͊̓ͅ ̶͚̿̑̈́͝s̴̛̬̥h̷͕͔̃̃̆̋̽͜ĭ̶̢͎̲̩̪̑̓p̷̠͇͚̂̊̒͒.̵͍͙̋̈́͠ ̸̥̻̬͛͑̈̒ͅB̴͖̜͌̉͜ė̵͓͜ͅh̷̯͇͉͇͗͠i̶͍͖̻̳̾̇n̴͇̰̘͛d̸̞̗͓̖̩̈́̇ ̷̞̆͒̏̈́y̸̨̘̩̅̓o̶̦̅̅̒́̚ṳ̵̦̃̑͐,̵̣̞͇̓̒̆͗ ̸̧̡̳̈̕p̷̡̣̑͌͘r̵͕͍̮̓e̴̝͖̖͓̓͌͜s̵̗̯͈̞͌́͘͝ī̸̗̤d̸͚͕̳̘̏̀͘ͅe̸̖̲̣̝͑͠͝n̸̹͒̅́̕͠t̵͙̩͖̬̥͆͐̀̚͠ ̵̼̯̆͆̽͘ͅͅǫ̷̼̩̖̑̎̄ͅf̴̟̟̘̌ ̵̜̭̺̺̽̒̈́̾t̵̠͔̀̉h̸͓͓̘̉̂e̶̼̣̫̫̼̓͑̄ ̶̨̦͖̝͋̄͊ͅU̸͚̪̲ṉ̶̭̲̐̈́͜į̸̧̧̯̇̈t̶̳͓̹̋̏ȅ̶̦̗̹̫d̵̝̺͓͘ ̷͉͉̭̂̉ͅS̴̢͔̹̺̻̋͘ť̵̘̞͕ä̸͓̜̘̥͓t̴̢̜̫̹͆͘ĕ̴̢͇̩͙s̵̖̺̃̊.̵̰̲̜̐͒̑ ̴̡̛͍̔͂̇Ṕ̷̨̭̫̳̭̐̊̓r̸̘͂̋̐ḙ̸̌s̴̡͉̱͒i̴̩̐d̵͓͓͙̱͂e̵̫̖͍̙̔̇͌̾͘n̷̹̦̲̼̔́t̵̢̆̉͂͂.̶̛͚̯̱͚̽͐ ̷̩͍̪̉̌͊̚M̶͎̞̻̑̂̏̈́ṷ̸̣͉̱̈́t̴̡̡̩̠͍̒̈͋i̴̺̽̈́n̶͉̺̭̂ͅe̴̛̼͋e̶̩̺̿̅r̷̡̩̱̘̔̕͝ ̸̳̗̈g̵̪͉̭̈́̈̐͝i̸̛̻̪̤͗͗͌̎v̵̛̟̠͙̯̿͒̔͘ȅ̴͕̾̿n̴͍̻̅̽̇͊ ̴̠̾̊̍a̵̧̡̢̼͙͂̒̒͛ ̴̙̏̓͗͋͜͝ṡ̴̬̰̺̫̾ẽ̴̢̡̛̳̬̼c̶͖̀̈́͘̚ǫ̴͇͍̫͗̿͠n̴̦̯̪̤͉d̵̡̝̄̈́͐̽ ̷̭̫̇͂̊ĉ̵̲̾͂h̴͍͍͆̿̋ā̵̡̫̙̪͝ͅn̵̙͎̟̪͌̌̏̕͝c̴̨̡̛̲̙̗̓̔è̴͚̩̼͗ ̶͓͕̄̔o̸͇̟͂̔͠n̴̪̳̐̓ ̸͇̥͑a̵̲̘̤̙͓̾̍̍̐̈́ ̷̤̤̓͑s̵̢̞͋̆̐t̷͎̺̅̎͠a̶̢̛̺̤͉r̵͇̲̫̳̊͑f̵̘̜̜l̶̦̍̌̅e̵̜̫̯̤̓͂̐̓͜͠ë̴́̎̉͜ț̷͙͔̭̀̆ ̶̹̞͔̥̃̍̊s̶̟͖̕ͅĥ̶̹͓̺͂i̴̦͐p̸̛̗͙̱͂͂́̉ͅͅ.̷̢͎͍̱̘̏̇̅͝ ̵̨̹̳̇͐̑P̴͖͍̦̰͕̾̊̅o̶̗̭̪̙̗͒͑p̵̛͔̮͙̦̀̓͊̉ ̷̣̳͍̲͋̄s̷͕̜̯͙͆t̶͍͇́͑̅͐͜ȁ̷͕̫̼̔ř̵͔̣̖̓͋̅,̵̼̊̑ ̸̛̬̫̥̱̻̐̽̊a̶̦̋č̷͖̏͋͊ṱ̸́̔̾̆͆r̵̡͚̯̟͌͝ẻ̴̫̳̣̙̺̇s̸͚̻͉͎̣̈̿̐͑͠s̵͉̝͕̗̊̔̉̀,̶̢͓̬͍͌̋͋͘ ̸̲̬͎̞̗̊̃̑s̶͙̓̋̅ö̶͈̘̖́̾̌̆l̸͈͉̉̚͝d̵̢̹̩̙̎̓̎̚i̵̠̬̞͈̒̆͛͘e̸̥͊ȓ̸̢̢̏͋.̵̝̟̭̲̤̅̒̊̒͝ ̴̝̙̱͐͜R̶͈͕͎̂͗͠e̸̲̗̥̘̻͗̾͛̏v̵͍̼̈́̚ó̴̺̖̺̼̋̍̃̕l̴̈͋̚͜͠ͅṵ̶̇̎̾̑t̵̗̘̤̰̩͆͝į̸̨̹̮͕̋̑͘͝o̶̗̖͕̓̇̏̑̉͜n̵̘̪͙̣͑a̸͔͐͛̓̿r̶̜̱͚̱̈́͘y̷̨͈̥̰̪͒.̴̢̣̗̪̥̉̌̋͝ ̵̛̺̎̍̚̕B̷͔͓̤̹̊̀̿̀͜u̵̡̔̀̀̒̕t̶̟̖̓̇͆͐ ̸̻̩̬͚̰̊̽h̵̖̼͆͌̊̊͝e̶̻͌̈́r̵̖͋̑̒ē̵̦̇͗̿?̶̢̼̺̮͌̍̍̏ͅ ̸̢͙͎̖̓̽̔͐̈I̵̦͖͝t̵̳̺̮̞͠’̸̨̫͉̹̓͠ͅs̵̪̈̏̔͝ ̶̮̗͙͔͂̐̊̈́͒ç̴͈̞͊ͅḷ̴̅̕͜͝e̵̝̯̰͆̈́̓́͝ͅä̶̠̘̪͉́͊̈ṝ̵̒̎ ̵͇͌͌̑w̷̡̠̻̒h̷͖̊̎̍͝ą̶̛̩̞͆̉t̸̠͔̯̻̝͊ ̴̱͉͉̟̎I̴͕͍̍͝ ̸̼̤̻̔̔̄͂̚ͅẩ̵͓̹̳͍̞̉̕͝m̴̞̘̥̍,̵͔̗̰͆̊̈ ̵̦̠̪̺͚͒̊ȟ̸͍̈́͝e̶͇̞͖̯̺͐͒͌ŗ̶̞̮͉̈́͒̂͐ē̸̫̥͇̯̬̇.̶̛͕̪̊ ̷̛̱́̆͑͗ͅT̵̩͂͆ḩ̴̹̄ë̶̘̳͙̣̰ ̵͖̖͓̾̄̒͛r̶͇͖̠̱̔e̶̙̞̪͓̍s̵̖͖͓͛̈́͆͝o̴̯̥̭̞͋̆̀͑̈u̴̬̖̓r̴̫̠̃̋̋͋͝c̶̱͇̅ę̸̍̉ş̵̟̮͎̇ ̶͕̥͇͉̥̓i̸̭̹̮̱̬͂t̵̜̆̃ ̴̧̳̯̞͉̑̂̇c̵̰̺̠̆̃̋ͅo̵͍̝̞̓̈́́͝s̷̳͖͉͛̽͌t̵̒́̏̇ͅs̸͙̻͈͐͑̀̽̉ ̷͇͉͗̾̕̕ͅt̸̛̮̓̋͑ơ̶̺̭̲̽ ̵͔͇̻̓k̶̟̩̝͕̔ͅé̶̡͙̖̼͊ė̷̦̱̳͗͝p̵̟͚͍̠̠̔̈́̋̂̚ ̷̲͚̍̐͗͂m̶̢̳͎̙̓͂̾͗̌ȩ̷̲̈̄ ̵̲͉͑ȃ̸͚̞̗̜͋̆̄l̸̘͒̏̌͐ī̴̞͚̿͊̐v̷̗̜̺͗̑͛͝ȩ̷̡̼̤̤̄̓,̸͓̬̰͇͙͑͆͠ ̷̡̧̦͓̻̌̑̾͠ṫ̴̟̠̮͐͛͑̕ǫ̸̳͙̹͙͘ ̴̧̜͔̬̦͂̓̓̕c̷̹͂̊͑͘o̴̒͜n̵͖̘̜̰̍́͛̕t̸̥̹̔̾͗a̷̜͔̾͐ĩ̷͎̂̑͠ñ̷̪̖͚͆ ̵̛̛̻͙͛̚m̸̡͉̅͌̔̉e̸̼̱̖͉͋̈́͛ ̸̮̠͙̯̈ͅẁ̴̰͔h̴̦͉͓̳͘è̸̡̼̩̩̺̉̌͝n̷̟͆ ̸̧̰͈͍̄̈́͘m̶̢͖̗̫̲̿y̵̪̳͐̈́̑̕͜ ̵̗͍̈̅͛͝p̵̖͑͆o̶̧͉̍̀̕w̸̧̲̯͚̓̾̋͝͝ͅë̵̗ř̶̟̮̖̘̄s̸̡̨̹̜͚̿͠͠͠ ̴̫̋g̶̱e̸̪̬͎͎̔̇̆͗͘ẗ̴̻̩͔͉́͘ ̸̢͇̦̯̘̐̇̑͑õ̷̖̭̮̠̆̚u̶̳̭͉͂̈́ṯ̷̛͈͕̽͆ ̷̨̼̌̏o̸͇͑̊̈̾͂f̸͖̭̏̿ ̵͚́c̴̜͍̫̏͠o̸̜͍͌n̶̡̋͆t̸̢̻̰̟̟̿̅̀̀ŗ̸̠̼͈̈́̏́͠o̴̥͕̠̼̒̐̽̾͘l̷̢̟̯͂̌͝.̵͇͕̥̝̽̀̋̾ ̷̬̙͙̏̄W̷̫͍̜̖̓͛̌ẖ̵̢̲̩̃̊e̴͚͓̦̥̜̍͝ṋ̵̭͔̝̦͛͊͝ ̶̙̖̍̽͜I̸̺̖̪͐͑ ̵̢̧̬̳̟̊͗g̸̲̾̊͛̿e̵͍̳͙̙͗t̴͍̠͖͕̮̓͗̄̀ ̸̛̦̔̃̄̑ͅā̴̮̫ñ̷̗̃͌͐g̶͚̘̥͋r̴͓̆̐y̴̰̙͓͌͒̊,̶̭͎͂ͅ ̵͙͈̳̄̌w̵͓̪̥̝̘͊́ḣ̸̲̺̤͖ę̴͚̬̈n̴̢̰̞̫̊̿̍̐ ̴͕̖̮̣̝̈́̔͗͂̕å̷̩̥̖̹̻̑̐̚l̵̫͂̓́̿l̷̡̬̓̎͗ ̸͓̏̇̽͗ͅI̷̢̳̟̙̘̾̿ ̵̛̹̳w̷͇̒̓͐a̷̞͔̤͈͍͗̍ṇ̸̡̗̓̇̇͝t̷̛̳̩̗͚̉̇ ̷̨̻̦͗͘̕ṫ̴̝͒̃͌̐ǫ̴̢̠͈͗͋͗ ̷͖̫͍͜d̶͎͓͉̀̈̀ͅȏ̴̮̂ͅͅ ̴̢̧̛͙̦̅̾͋͜i̴̗͔͂̉̆͛͘s̵̡̛̝̘̮̀ ̸̠̓m̵̺̱̭͆a̷̛͕̮̒̈̈́͐î̴̧̯̩͖̟̉͛́̊m̵̼̩͒̑̈͜͠͝ ̷͈͎̯͓̪̑̋̓͂̑ą̶̟̘̟͉̒̽n̶̛̙̓̏̃̆d̴͕͇̳̂ͅ ̶̼̎͒̚͜ͅh̴̼͉̲̗͐̅ų̶͎̪̥̹̂͌̂̄ṙ̷̝̤̈̃t̵̩̠͇̳̊̅͠ ̵̫͋͆͛̓̃ȁ̵̫̝͉̍ṇ̸͒d̴͎̬͓̊͌ ̶͔͋̋ḵ̵̪͙͆͊̐̒̑i̵̮͂l̵̳̦̞͓̐̓͝l̶͙͍̂.̶̻̥͋̍͌͠ ̶̢̛̩̞̹͇̒͗T̶̢̞̰̾̈́̅͌̃ḫ̷̢̤͔̎̽e̷̝̔̋ ̴̬̙̮͓͉̓̒r̷̝̘̞͍͊̐ͅi̸̡̹̇ş̴͍̌͆̒͒̚k̵̡̝̾̿͆͝ ̷̖̊̋̏̔p̸̡̛̦̗͒͝ȇ̶̡̛̬͙̘̞͗͝õ̴͇͚̗̮͍͋p̷̨̩̮̃͗̕ĺ̴͍͖̹̥̒é̶̲̅ ̴̩̤̂r̶̳̫̦̟̆u̶̧̨̼͌̐̏̕͜n̶̘̣̤͒̄̊̋͗ ̶̰͊͗ẃ̴̛͓͌̾̿h̵̯͙͍̀̈́́e̷̬̝͍̳͙̚n̷̟̼͋̿̊̂̕ ̷̥̎t̶̡͙͔͂ͅh̸̪͎̘̪͑̉͑̃e̷̯͔̝͗̓y̴̡͇̍ ̸͈̲͉͚͗̇͘j̶̬̔̌̈́̊ũ̸̠̏͌͗s̷̺̓̀͜t̴̰̳̿̔͊͛͝ ̶̛̜̦̉͗͜͝w̷̛̪̫̗̩̉̀̕̕͜ă̶̱͍n̷̘͉̒̊ţ̵̱̲̖̔̆̓ ̶̧̲͓̘̻̔͗̍̀͊t̶͔͇̻̍o̶̠͈̠͋̈ ̸̩̖̻̙̩̔̏͌t̶̛͖͓͍̞̙̿͐͋ơ̵̜͑͜ư̴͎͉̲͙̇͛́̃c̶͖̈̓͝͠h̸͖̩̠̔͛̔͛̌ ̵̨̘̠̑͂̃̚m̵̟̩̬̯͉͂e̶͓͚̅̑̂.̶̖͐́ ̷̳͎̞̯̑̚I̶͚̦̊̍ ̶̔ͅa̶̠̫̙̱̠͝͝m̵͓̮̎ͅ ̶̝͍̒̓̑̍ȁ̵̤̓̋̚ ̸̨̗̙͊͘͜ḃ̶̝̺͇͉̗͂ų̸̙͓̼͈̑r̴̞̰̋ď̵͇e̵̤͕͈͝n̵͓͔̿͗͗̈́.̸̗̘̜̮͍̐̕ ̵͚͚͇̈͒̈́́̅A̵̢͉̰̲̐̒̀̚ ̷̧̭̰͉̟̾̌̿͛ľ̸̯̃̒͐ͅi̴̜͑͝a̶͕̹̬̳̞̎̈́b̴̛̟͍̳͚̚ḭ̶̭̳͔̑̓̈́̋l̷̢͚̗͝͝į̸̣͍͖͒̍ẗ̵̳͍̙̖́̈́͜y̶̗̔̉̅̈́̀͜-̴̪̭̫͉̺̏-̸̰͛̾
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe .
It will not be like this for much longer.
I eat in peace. The food court around me screams as everyone melts away, puddles of gore and sticky bones.
T̵̡͟h͇̩̭͚̹̜̻͍̝̺e ̢̦͖̙͉͍̯͈̲̖̯͍̘͎̘͘͞he̕x͙̼̬̕͜į͏̙̺̩̪d̝̤̦̕͠e̞̤̣͞ͅc̛͘͞i̦̙̰͡ͅma̷̲̣̫̘l͙͎͔̥̹̻̳̝͈̱͈̱̹̣s̰̝̼̘̖̞̭̠̭̬̦ ͍͇̹͉̻̥̜w̬͍͘ar̡͜p͖͎͚̟,̶̧̧̼̝̝̗̜̮ ̷͉̻̼͈͎̜͡a̶͟͏̫̮̭̬̬͔͓͕̙̥̥n̷d͏̯̤̖͔̠̱̖͓̝͚͈̯̣͟ͅ ̞̙̦̖̼͖̼̱̗̫̳ͅs͔̟͎͉̖͕̰͙̼͈̲͚̟h̲̞̠̹̱̫͟i̵͠f̡̥̹̦̬̟̹͍̝̲̱̩̭͔̱ͅt̵͕͕̠͔͖͇̙͢,͎̺͎͞ ̟̦̜̖̟̗̣̭͚͔͘͡͝ͅi̪͍̥̱̬̖̭͜ͅnṭ͍͎̖̜̟̫͙̝̻͕̜̺̠͓͠͠o̲͖̞̭̼
This will not last much longer.
I will see to it.
I will make it.
When night arrives and every star is as close as the sun, I retreat beyond the veil, the crack in the paper thin walls between. I watch it again, and again, and again, helplessly , that scene that, in a dozen lifetimes, a dozen worlds, happens the same. That same horrific event rarely changes. The rise, the fall, the fight that steals the breath from his lungs from something beyond human comprehension. You know of whom I speak. There are whispers in the air from those who fell at that thing’s hand, from all the different places and times, some from his very gaping chest, his exposed heart, and, gradually, they have involved me in their conversation. I have had to make myself known to them, but they eventually have known me.
Do you know what they’ve said to me?
“Stop this.”
I heard them. They’re there , their souls from all their damned timelines, all their doomed universes, looking to me . They know I am here, prying into their world long after it has already needed me. They judge my pervertedness, my quest to seek deep into the most intimate nature of this inevitability. But even so, they beg for me. They beg for him .
Do you know how many times I have seen him die? Do you know how many times I’ve seen him live?
None of it ends well.
I cannot risk reaching out to you. I cannot see the intricacies of our own world. I cannot see the minute electrical patterns in your mind that make you tick. I cannot know if you would accept this, and I will never know if you would forgive me.
But know this: this is not only for you.
It’s for the good of ŕ̴̦͎̳̠͗̈͜ë̷̘́͛͆͜a̵̳̔l̸͍̱̫̆̇͐í̵̧̞͉̰̇̂t̵̡͗y̵̡̞̥̳͑ỷ̸̹̖͈̻ỷ̸̜͍̙̌y̷̧̘͚͍͌̐̍̈́̑y̶̦̟̹̪͐͑̽̈́y̴͙̒ỳ̴͈̺̩̻̤̂̕ȳ̴̩̱̫͝͠ẙ̸̈̉̄͜y̵̲̒ỵ̴͖͕͓͇̇͆̐́y̶̨͓̭̞̱̿̉̃͠͝ȳ̴̳y̵̻͖͋̋̓͐ÿ̸͉͍̩̫̫́́̅͠y̶͓̣̥͙̓ẙ̵̳̩̅̈͂y̶̼̹̤̍̽̒y̷̼̠̼͚͛̈́̔y̷̧̘͓̩̭̒̃̋͘̚ỷ̵̠̞̤͎̤̈́̉͗y̷̥̫̅y̸̨͓͎͇͗̈́͝ẙ̶̙̞͇ý̷̜͔y̴̪͛͛̏ỳ̷̖͚̹̝͕ỳ̸̡͚͉ỹ̵̯͇̰̿̓̅̔y̸̹̖͠͠ͅÿ̴̭̪̄͒̈͘y̶̯̖̮̼͆̕͠y̵̬̞̞ỹ̸͖͇̗̍̑̈́y̶͕̣̔͆͑͠ÿ̴̦́ÿ̵̡̲̥̹͕́̀͘y̸̱̙̤̮̓́y̷̡͑͠y̵̺͓̯̌̈y̷̨̻̣̠̎̈́͜͠y̷̟̹̪͓̌y̷̧̜̓̉̔͛̊͜y̵͉̗̱͘y̸͙̓͒͛̏̑y̵̧̖̳̞̐̏y̵̦̙͐̈y̵͎̗̥̿͗͘͝͠y̷̬̩͂̃̂͠y̴̞̦̹͋̏ỷ̶̢̦͔̎y̵̙͇͎̬̟̓̽̌̄y̸̢͉̙̋͌͌͝y̶̪̪y̷̮͎͓̯̺͆ȳ̷͓̭͙͐͋̈̒y̴̢̲̣̑̕͠ȳ̴͍̱͔̎̕y̵͚̆̓͌y̶̰͆y̵̩̭̻̪͗̿̌̍̆y̵̢̠͉̎̊y̸͇͑̈́̋ȳ̵̥̖͔ȳ̵̢̗̈́̑̓̕ͅy̶͎̥̰̎͛̃̋͝y̸̝̳̲̑y̵͔̥͑͌͗y̴̜̩̎̓ÿ̶͌͗̓͜y̷̼̤͆̏̽̽͆ÿ̷̗̺̼̻́̍̃y̸̧͔͗̆̾y̵̡̨̹̙̆͝ỳ̸̫̫͎͔͖̐ÿ̶̞̟̭́̕y̴͚͔͍͗͋͜͜y̸̠̱̤̖͂͜y̶̢̘̰̩̯̒y̵̧͕̪̞͙̐̅̈́͠ÿ̴̥̻̗͓́̍y̵̰͓̍͆͑ỹ̷̧͍͚͙y̷͙̱͆͆̇̅͑y̷̛͇̥͖͉͉̋̚y̸̲̭̘̮͚͆͆́͑͝ỷ̴̦͚̖͠y̵̳̘͉̱͌̌̉y̴̙̝̍̚ỵ̸̉̏͌̃̑y̸̫̜͔͙͊ẏ̸̪̻͈̣͂͐̈͝y̶̨̐y̶̻̠̯͈̒̋ẏ̸̥̥̰̐ÿ̵̲̖͎̦́̒͗̏͝y̸̢̗̙̥͔̐ȳ̷͖͓͍͓̥͗̕y̶̡͕̮̽͆͋͑̉͜y̵̤͚̲̋͘ͅy̵̨͇͑̌͜y̷̡̙̝͕̤͋͂̌͊̏y̸̝̮̏̅y̸̦͍̥̽̃́̾̈y̷̛̭̹̝͍͛͠y̶͉̳̏͜y̵̥͎̆̒̓͑͒y̴̙͖̝̎ỹ̸̡̠͐̍͒̚ỳ̸͕̟̆̆̏͠y̷̡͎̿y̷̻̲̟̥͂̕͘͝y̷̖̩̿ỵ̸̢̦̭͐́y̸̪̣̤̐y̴̢̠̲̬͐͝͝y̵͎̩̌̃̌̊̑ỳ̴̰͖ẏ̵̼̠̀͛͠y̵̯̫͉̓̊́y̸̨̗͍̥̌̋͘ͅy̵̛̯̓̊̂̃ÿ̶̪͓̙̼́y̸̻͚̒̌̓y̴̥̭͌̍y̸̜̽̐ŷ̵̱̞ỳ̶͍̼̩̪̣ÿ̷̯̠͖͈̻́̽y̵̢̪͈̔͐ẏ̴̦̞̯̣ŷ̵̧̨͕̘̏͠ý̶̞̜͆̌̀̎y̶̳͆͗̃͑͐y̶̠̮̜̮ỷ̸̘̪̽ỷ̴̢̨͚̹͜͠ẏ̷̨̯͖̯̟̋̈́y̶̞̙̹̔̋̍͝͠y̸̧̬̦͖̒̈́̏̃y̸̻̙͛͗̅͠ÿ̴̨̠́̊͝ÿ̶͚͇́͆̽̒͒y̶̗̦̠̌̃̄̋͛ẏ̴͇͈͖̇ͅy̵̬̗͈̲͛̅̓́̕y̶͈̜̩͛y̸̧̓y̶̫͕͔̖̒̽͝y̴̨̲̓̓͝ỷ̸̯̭͐̉͜͝y̵̳̪̆͐͑͆y̵̢̛̙̹̗͑̓̏͝ÿ̵̙͉͙͖́͋͆̓y̴̛͓͓̋͋̓͛y̵͉̠͔͎̮͐̀̈́̚y̵̨̦̥̰͌͌̑̎̇ÿ̴̢͉̟̘ỵ̴̠͓̑y̵̗̻̞̹̋̿̎̑̋y̸͌̄̎͋ͅy̵͇̣̯̫̦͌͐̈́̎̽y̷͓̹̠͆͝ŷ̴̲̀͋ȳ̵̧̧̺͙̓ỹ̵̦̓̔͝y̸̺͙͚̜̿̕y̸̮̘̾y̸͙͙̠͗̍͜ͅẏ̵̨͌͒y̸̧̮̺̹͓͋̈͑y̶̞̻͎͕͌͗͐͊͂y̸̱͆͗͗͆́͜y̵̖͖̟̎̚y̶͇̳y̵̘̐̌̕ý̵͕̙͔͔͂͝ÿ̵̮̈͂̈́y̵̨͖̦̣͖̕y̴̢̳̲̠͝ͅy̶̢̺͒͑͂̔y̴͓̏͗̄ỵ̶͕͕̥̈́̽y̴͔̾͝ỷ̶̠͚̟̱y̸̰̽̿͘͘y̵̘͓͛͊̋y̷̡̛̩̙̙̘͆̍y̵̢̺̳̑͑̚ý̵͔͝y̵̞̰̙̑͐̈̈́ŷ̸̯͚̞̹͊͠y̴̨̲̲͈͐̈́̂̍̚y̵̝͐͛ỹ̸̹͝y̵͉̎̀y̷̱̼͕̬̏̐̒̒ÿ̸͙̙́̈y̶̗̱̙̽́̇ẏ̸͓̖͓͋y̵̹̠͕͋y̵̘̒̇̾̚͝y̵̳͉̻̜̲͂̐y̴̛͉̭̫̰͋ÿ̵͖́̒͊̇y̵̦̙͚̜̦͛ÿ̵̮̝͕͖̳́y̶̦̟̭̺͐͂͐y̸͖̖̤͎̫͛ŷ̶̙̞͍̐̈́͝y̷̖̮̦̲̌̒̕̚y̷͖̳͉͒̍͂ŷ̸̩̍̐y̶̛̦̭̥̯̿̊̏y̴̧̐̓y̵̡̺̩̎̋̈̌͐y̶͆͘͜͠y̵͔̦̩͑y̵͉̑͋͝y̴̱̱̳͈͙̍͗͐͝y̶̗͉̌ÿ̶̯͙̆̈́ÿ̵̱͓̻́y̷͍̼̒̂̇͑ỹ̷̛͉̼̲y̵̼̟͛y̶̩͈͘y̷͚͈̹̮̆͒y̴̯̞̺̬̒̾̂̽ͅy̴̙̟͖̖͌̍͆͗ͅy̷̛̻͉y̸̱̾ͅy̸͎̬̱̓͐͝y̵̱̗̓͑̓ÿ̵̰̽͠ỳ̸͚̉y̵̧͇̭͗̆̿̑͘ẙ̴̙̐̉͆̚ỹ̷͇̙̦̲ÿ̸̞́̅y̵̡͕̭̐̅̕y̵̛͔̝͓̜̾̌͝y̸̜͋͗ÿ̶̗́y̵͎̤̳̲̩͛͂͒͛y̸͙̱͝ỵ̴̡̤͂̽̋̄͊ÿ̴̖̲̭̺̎͠y̶̻͌̐ý̷̛͎̙̪̈́̇͠ȳ̸̰͕͊̌̑ͅy̷͓͓͓͋̈́̍y̴̥̗͉͈̳͂̒y̷̡̤̣͙͎̋y̶̛̮̼̒y̸̨̞͈̺̕ỷ̵̜͍͉̹́͗y̷̛̙͛y̶̪̙͔̿́̍̓̈́ÿ̶̨̙̤̝̱̾͐ẙ̴̤̯̘̈y̸̹͉͉͙͖̽ỵ̵͂ŷ̸̤̭͈̤̃̑͑y̵̛̼y̷̡̗̟̘̳̾̓ý̴̗͙y̷̖̎̋ỵ̵́y̶̟̣̬͉̙̎̎̔̈́̉y̸̙̲͉̭̆ͅy̵͔͎̳͎̌͒y̸̛͔̰͋͘ÿ̶̺̬̓ỷ̸̯̕y̵̲͛̑y̵̬̪̹̟y̴̟̫̓̾̑͘͘ỹ̸̘̤̫͙̅̔͋͠y̴̢̳̣͕͑͌y̷̔́̾̉͜y̴̤̝̳̳̅͆͑͜y̸̗̹̹͕̆͜ÿ̴̨̝̞́͝y̵̢̨̳̯̫̆̍̚y̷̮̎́̅̚ỵ̷̡̧̗͉͝y̸͍̼͋͋͊͝ẏ̶̮y̷̖̖̎͂̓y̴̡̢̲͖͛̈ŷ̴͙͛̏̐y̸̡̫̜͆͌̇y̷̝̋͋̋̚͝ẏ̴̨͇̪̞̱̆y̵̟͍̰̋̈y̵͍̖̠͓̭͋̉ÿ̵̳͔́̑ý̸̮͜y̶͍̪̳̘̥̽̅̚͠y̸̢̙̺͍̘̆̍͋̈́ỹ̵̪̯͚̝̼̎̀̑ÿ̴̱́̐͊y̴̰̎̈́̈̆͐ỹ̴͕̂͌̀͝y̸̨̙̤̪̠̐̓͠ẏ̷̧̼̬̮̐͜y̶̡̦̭̺͊̐͊̀͘y̶̳̬̐̕y̸̡͍̲̮͎͌̆̓y̴̙̠͔͗̽͐̎y̶̨̟̾̉̍́̕y̶̠̋̄ȳ̶͓̍̕y̴̧̟̘̒͒͊͌y̶̢̻͖̱͉̓͆͑y̴͈̙͆̎̾y̷̨̥̐̿̿̐̚ý̸̨͔̦̑͘͝ỳ̶̡̨͇̻̘͛̏̅͌y̸̲͖̿̃̊̈́̎ỷ̵̼̪̾͒ŷ̶̛͖͈̗̀̆͝y̴̰͙̬͛͆͋̽ÿ̵̙̩̙̟̺́͑y̴̢͍̼̭͐ỷ̷̹y̵̡̺͌̈́̊͜y̸̛̺̬̲̝̤̾̉̓̋y̴̧͎̲̖̘̅́y̸͕̤͇̗̍̾͝y̴̡̭̠̎̊y̸͍̪͒ẙ̵̫͈̉́͝y̸̹̮͒̎̈́͋̚͜y̴̳͎̘͎̐͛̕͝ͅy̶̩̎͆̆̈́ŷ̴̱͖y̵͔̖̅͘ȳ̵̩y̶̺͖̑̅̈́ỳ̶̡̹̘̞̌̑͊̑y̵͉͚̑̈́̾̚ͅy̴͉̥̐̕ÿ̶͉͙͇̓ỹ̷̧̰̮͍̗̃y̴̱͕̿ỷ̵̯̝͍͂ͅý̸̢͠y̷̲̌̂y̷̼͕͓̽y̵̭̩̻͛̈́̈́y̸̺͌ý̷̢̞͜y̵̬͂͒̿̐̇y̸̹͍̅͌̇͛͆ȳ̴̞̰̘̮̉̓̕ÿ̸̛̰̭̼̝̖̔̑̚y̶̖̟̝̩͒͝ͅỷ̴̦͔̙̐y̷̖̠̅͌͋͋y̷̝͔͑̏͋y̷̦̻̓y̴̨̖͈͈͑y̷̧̯̓̏y̶̛̰̋͊̐y̶̦̻̗͉̾̇̓̾ẏ̵̭͍̳̰͔̆̕y̴̨̛̹̲̌͋̈́y̴̜͔͕̜̅y̸̫͈͕͊y̴̛̳͎̓̕y̷̺̺̥̻͋̆̕y̴̞̤̮͜y̷̖͊͋y̴̤͚͙̺̑͊͐͘ͅy̵͖͂̄y̴͚̦͈̑̎̓̂y̷͕̔͋̚y̶̡̎y̶̰̲͆̈́̆̎̚y̷̡̯̩̖͚̑̀͝͝ẏ̶͓̱̼̩̺̿͝y̷̮̰̩͙͂͜y̸͍̓͊̈́͛y̶͍͚̟̌̅y̶̪͎̭̻̬͑̎͝ŷ̸͔̫͚ý̸̧̠̮̙̼̍̒ỹ̴͈ŷ̴̜̱̠̈́͋͗͜y̵̲̮̚y̶̞̔̽͑͌̈́y̶̡̬̩̩̏͜ẏ̸̢̘̮͔͌y̶̨̩̮̠̬̎͗ý̷̻̝̯̬̠͐͘ỵ̴͓̇̽́y̴̩̿̔͝y̴̮̤̋ỵ̶͌y̴̢̬̯̮͊̏̅͐y̵̳̓̄͑͑̚y̶͍̲̜̖̲͐̀̿̑̔y̷̟̤̍̅y̷̬̚y̷̻͚͠y̵̝͎͛̓̍ỷ̸̻̫͍̙̯y̴̜̹̗̤y̴̺̳̞̓̇͠͝y̵̗͆̃̐y̵̼̬͑͌͘y̶̢̯̟̹͍͊̈́̔y̶̟̱̰̆̎̆y̶̰͑̿͆̚ͅŷ̴̛̺̦͔͈̚y̸͖͙̠̭̎̉y̴͔̑ỹ̷̟̋ẏ̷̹̟̥̬̳y̸̫͛͌̍̓y̷̧͊̚͝͝y̶̙͊͗̈́y̴̠̞̹̪͋̄y̶̧̡̯͍͓̔͂̎y̷͚̋y̴̗̘͕̥͗͗̚̚y̷̧̖̥͗̀̓̿ÿ̸̨̡̜̩y̷̡̝͇̤̳̆y̸̠̦͊̾̚y̸͔̣̺͋̊̍y̷͉̘̏̾́ỳ̷̡͍̹̝̚̕͝y̸̛͍̲̎̐̐͝y̴͓̤͗̉͜͜y̶̬̭̝̺͑̉̎ý̷̫̼̝̊̋ͅy̵̨̘̠̣̖̌ẏ̴̡̹̪̈́y̴̨̳̏̾̑̚ẏ̷̢̖y̸̢̰̼͗y̴̢̬̼̠̎͊̎ͅỹ̶̫̽̎͘y̶̲̟̙̣̠̓y̸̮̼̯̾̑y̸͍̟̔̄̀̒͗y̸͚̯͕̗͇̏ŷ̷̧̳͊̔͆ͅỵ̵̧̱̏ͅy̸̼̞̖͓̫̓͝y̶̫͛͊̔̀͘ͅÿ̸̢̹́́͝ȳ̸͖̟̖̈́͘y̸̮͎̍̈̕y̶̻͂̕y̵̖̜̌͐̀̑ỹ̴̙̯̱͌y̵̛̖̠̌̂͜y̸̩ͅy̷͚͇̞͊͑͊̐͝y̵̧̚͠y̶̩̑͘y̷͔̳̅̍̐̔ͅy̸̨̓y̸̯̼͌̓̈́y̵̢̤̎͗͆͘y̴̠̼̮͚͇͆̄̄̍ỷ̴̡́ỵ̵̦̗͌̆̿͘y̷̥͎̯̫̝̒̋y̸̖̹̓̃̚y̸̛͉̰̏̇ẏ̴͔͎͛͐͊y̷̩̤͚̩̏̿y̴̱̲͍̩͊̿y̴͉̣̹̽̽̕y̵̢̻̘͊̌̿̍y̸̟̰̬͌͐̍͘y̷͈̹͒y̷͔͎͍̾̎̌͊̀ỵ̷͕̯̽̚ͅẙ̵̜̣̜̓͜ͅy̴̦̙̬̟͍͛̋̆͘y̸͍̎͝y̷̗͌͆̇y̶̜͚͔̖͂y̷̩̏̈́̇͝ỷ̴̺͍̈́̾y̷̠̒̈́̑̚y̷̭͐y̸͍̙̰̅͗y̵̨͇̳̐̍͛̒y̷̞̥̳̒͋̍y̸͉̣̝̐̈́y̵̦͑̀ŷ̷̫͆̍ẙ̵͕̿ͅy̵̦̘͖̘̏y̸͚̱̓̈́͛́͝ͅy̸̡̞̭͖̎̔̌̀ỵ̸̧̪̘̣͐y̶͎͇̮̺̻͛̽͝y̷̜̳͍̏͋͜ÿ̶̰́̋̍͝͝y̴̛͉̳̌y̵̨̖̲̲̿ͅy̴̪̼͍͗̾͗y̷̫͉̌̏̚͘y̷̫͆̽y̸̹͂̉y̸̖̟̱̓̃͂ẏ̴̮y̴̢̨̻͙͑͜y̸̢̠̺̍ẏ̸̯̣̆͗y̴͙̜̬͎̅y̷̳͉̦̣̿̿͌y̶̻̅͋̽͘y̸̨̫̱̺̭͌y̵̧̯̞̏y̸̯̒̈́͋y̷̲̮̚ý̴͉͇̦̏̏̂͊y̷̛̫̪͆͐͂͠y̴̡̦͈̺̼̐̾̍̔͂y̵̧̯͈͙̼͗̇̉̽͌y̶̙̣̬̻͂̉ỷ̴̢̘͉̂̌y̴͎̠̟͕͋̆̌y̸̙̫͌̎y̸͙̬͇͕̮̓͘y̷̠͓̙̭̳̕y̷͎̰̚ͅy̷̟̯͕͖̾̽͆y̶̧̮̭̔̊y̶͍̰̑͑̕͠ÿ̵̹̣̳́̑̈́͘ÿ̶̛̬͔͓͔́̓̌y̴͖̥͙̮͊̈́͌͘ͅy̵̢̡̻̿̋͜͝y̷͇͇̜̓͂y̶͔̪̩̓y̵̡͕͂̕ÿ̵̟́̚͜y̵͎̋ỵ̷̨̹̤̬̏̿͝y̶̧͖̿͛̆y̷̢̰̝̘̽̆y̵̧͍̝̚ÿ̷̩́̄͐͘y̷̝̰͛̓͒̓̾ͅÿ̵͕͎͎͑̇̓̔y̴̩̓͌͐ý̶̼͎̹̜͓͐̒y̵̡̭͇̽͠y̶̯͙̔̇y̷̻̹̜̅̒̓͝͝y̸̻͉͌͠ẏ̶̢̙̦̳̟ỳ̸̟̹͈̩̠̒y̶͎͕̓y̴̹̞͘ͅȳ̴͈͛y̵̤̙͖̻͐̇̇͝ÿ̵̞́́̒̾y̶̡̖̜͋̂̈́̇y̴̤̰͚̣͑̾̾͜y̸̗̥̻̟̤̽y̵̢͎̻͋̌̈́̽͠y̸͚̮̓̈́̄͒͠y̵̞̪̥͇̗̏͂ŷ̷͕̽̒͂y̶̩̳̖̼̔͑ÿ̷́͆͗̈͘͜y̶̖̜̆̿y̸̘͎͆ͅy̶̫̪̱͔̿̊̆̓͝y̶͚̻͓̏͝y̴̳̱̼̏̾ͅy̴̧̛̭͓y̵̧͖̒̍̃y̷̩̾̑̉̎̅ŷ̴̻͋̅y̸̙̦͘͝y̵̼͓̘̖̋̒͠y̷̛̰̬̝̙̒̈́̋ͅy̵͉̹͕͚͐̐͝y̸̱͐̑̕y̵̥̻͖̥͌͜y̵̙y̶̨̋̀̈́̒̈y̵͙̓̕͝y̵̙͒̔y̴͖͍̿̑͗ẙ̸̢y̴̩̆͜y̵̫̗͑̿̌̽͋y̶͚̦̝̔y̸̺͠y̴̡͍̪͔̋̓͝y̶̻͙̯̞̠̋̐͛ỷ̸͇y̵̭̱̼͌̕ỳ̴̳͈̅̽͒y̸̞͉͕̓̋ỵ̷͇͈̜͚̅͝ÿ̶̢͈͇́͌̕y̴̠̭͑̑͌̽͘y̵̟̣͌y̸̖̓͋͑̾͠y̴̗͠y̶̥͍͋y̵̛̼̓͊͆̊ÿ̷̥̦̫́̈́̃y̸̭̫̘̼̰͆͘̕y̸̼͎̋͝ÿ̴̧́͒̋͑y̶͉̼͓͐̅̆y̴̬̠̍͜͝y̷̯͚̐ÿ̴͙̬̊͒̑y̴̨͖̝̼̲̅̔̐y̵̩̣̼̒̀̀̔y̴̛͙̲͍̟̲͋̋̒y̸̼͈̰͋̊̄͘ÿ̸̨͙̯́̕ÿ̷̠͉̯̠̬́͂̈y̷͎̖̓͝ỵ̷͓̠̄̄̂̆y̵͙̟̝̳͘y̷͔͔͛͘ý̷̱̳̺͖͑͛͐͘y̸̗̱̬̲͂̄͋̓͜͝y̸̢̡̭̒̊͝y̴̟͌͒y̴͓͂̿̉̈́̈͜ỷ̷͕͕̳̕y̶̞͖̥͚͐́ý̴͓͕̦͊ͅy̴̘̻̜̟̩̿̾̈́̇ỳ̶͈̦̦̣͚̅̾͠ỷ̶̗̂̔̒̌ÿ̴̥̑̽̒̄ý̵̢̖̩̜̰̉̃ỷ̶̳̱̦͎͔̈́y̷̛̙͔̞͂͝y̷̨̤̍̽͂͝y̴͚̙͓̗̩͛͠y̶͖͇̬͛̅͑y̸̠͚̫̓̉͂̂͝y̸̤̾y̶͇̮͔̚y̴͚͙͓͕͇͛y̵̠̯͐̍y̴̛̪̦̲͊̊͝ÿ̴̠͎̻͋y̴͚̘̹̗̏ͅy̸̝͔̼̒y̴̛̙̓̏̋ÿ̷̨̭͉̮́͂͒̇̚ͅy̸̯̤̔ẏ̵̢̧͉̖̗ỷ̶̜̘͠ẏ̴͚̃̔͝y̵̻͛̅̾̆̕y̷̧̳͕͇͍̔͒͝y̶͚͆͌y̵̹͌͠y̷̻̝̯͌̏y̸̡̬̤̾́̏̈́y̵͉̥͠ÿ̵̤͈̐̋̉̈́y̸̹̒͋̓̓͂ȳ̶̼̥̘̈̓͘y̷̤̾̄̈́͝y̴̢͕͍̦͔͊͂̒̌͒y̴͙̣͉̙̎̏̆͛y̴̹͍̮̮͐͗̔y̴̩̎͒ÿ̷͙̔y̶̜̎̆͛̽y̸̨̮̳͛̿̾y̸̡͍̞͋̉͊̅̕y̷͖̞̮̳̾̿̊̇̾y̶̜͓͉̝̎͜y̸̲̘̣͝y̶̡͍̿͊͝y̸͍̆̉̆͝y̴̨̼̺̹̱̐̋̍̌́y̸̝̼͌̍̆͝͝y̶̹̠̆̚y̶̮̫̫̽̉y̴̙͆͒͛͐
“You must make me a promise, Starlight.”
“Of course, anything.”
“I need you to mean that. Anything. I need you to be faithful to that.”
“I will.”
“... There may come a day where… where I may fight something that is… out of my capabilities to overcome. When that day comes… I need you to promise me with your life , that you will not come to my aid. I need you to promise me that, if I… fail… you will run , and you won’t look back. Because… because you will die.”
“[Insert name here]--”
“You can’t argue with me on this. You just… can’t . You have to make me this promise. I know I’ve hinted at it before, but I feel like if I don’t say it outright like this, you won’t take me seriously. If you can’t do this for me, I… I can’t… keep seeing you in good conscience.”
“What-- what in the world would make you say this? What could you possibly not overcome? You’re--”
“What I am is exactly the problem. Heroes grow stronger with each new generation, but we, as humans, are all in the same blood pool. As heroes grow stronger, so do villains. And that something that I can’t defeat… there will be no possible way for any outcome to be any different for you, and if you fell victim to the same fate that I did, I could never forgive myself. In death, my spirit would mourn for you for eternity.”
“Why are you telling me this now? What brought this up?”
“... It’s just… a thought I have on occasion. But [Insert name here], you have to promise me you will do this. That, if I say the word, or if I fall…”
“You aren’t-- nothing’s going to--”
“ Promise. Or everything will end. ”