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It is not a choice to be stupid, though I gave my best efforts to be sympathetic.
Personal pleasures were like drying flowers, best kept away from the light to preserve their vibrance.
I wish I could say that I made that man suffer—that I put his hands in jars and severed the tongue from his mouth. Instead, I did something far worse. I did nothing.
There was no need to change out of funeral attire, as men die every day—a cause for celebration.
