“All those severe poets talking big about the wages of sin all the time,” Zee added, “but nobody ever brought up the wages of virtue. The toll of trying really really hard to be good in a game that’s totally rigged against goodness.” Glassy moans barely audible over the horizon. Dark clouds against a bright sky, like blackberries in a bowl of milk. “You’re so good, Zee. I see it.” Snow falling faster than what should have been possible. “That’s not what I mean,” said Zee in an unexpectedly high, strange voice. “It’s just. Where does all our effort go? It’s hard not to envy the monsters when
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