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His brother had loved him, he supposed. A bruising love where every pat was just this side of a slap. The love one has for something always beneath you.
A petty gesture, perhaps, but the weak must thrive on small revenges.
He would have liked to weigh his choices, but for that you need more than one.
“Pick your enemies more carefully than your friends,” Nothing was muttering at the flames. “They will be with you longer.”
It seemed that empathy, properly used, could be a deadly weapon.
