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    She was tall, beautiful and glowing, and yet, her downfall lay within the misery of those with whom she had always been surrounded. These waifs were alien to her – monsters in a chasm of black darkness that she could never truly perceive. She nodded quietly at them, a faint smile always echoing upon her rosy lips. The cold, dark eyes could only faintly blink back from within hollow, sallow faces.

    It was a gift laid upon her shoulders – this existence of perpetual solitude. Her unholy alliance with the light only strove to drive a deeper void between the ground beneath her silk shod feet and the crumbling earth beneath others’ bloodied limbs. In the shadows she could always hear the whimpering hatred. They were bitter; they were blind.

    In an instant, this cosmic angel could gregariously bestow upon the others this gift – this magical light; a warmth to hush the shivers within cold bones. But her fate was sealed. She was to defy the kindness of her nature and let them all feast on empty platters.

    The relentless truth of her predicament only served to placate her intolerance of their suffering.

    It was fate, after all, that fueled the nature of man – of woman – even of radical creatures of purity.

    Her gift was deliverance from the evils of the world, but to give this gift was to give her life. Her life so perfect, so soft and supple – a meaningless menagerie of time, really. Futile though her quest to remain animate may be, she felt a greater fear of wondering the faces of unknown realities. A death that no man nor creature may recall to the living.


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