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That’s how it was, still is, everyone toasting the goodness of mankind, except their immediate neighbors who are always thieves and villains.
She thought they were in love, and that love meant care, and compassion, and mercy. She thought all those things, and how wrong she was. Love could mean anything it wanted to.
Perhaps her illness is a rejection of the sedentary life, her body rebelling against an inertia that mankind has, over the millennia, eased itself into. Suns and planets constantly revolve. Grass was always growing, seasons always changing.
