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Summary
Sometimes, no matter how hard you fight, it isn’t enough. The idea of living death is both poetic and cruel in its thoughts of entertainment.
You witnessed them; clad in black and smiles brightly shining red, cut open what should have been left whole, regardless of its blackened heart and ink-like blood. The endless darkness they encompassed, almost a welcome sight, until their hands carried you and offered you as if you were a meal to the next beast that practically starved for you.
And she was ravenous, but not for your death.
So for what?