The demons are back. How long they stayed away in years of sunshine, how strange to get a taste from a whole other life then have it all taken away again. You get nothing for free.
The same cuts bleed across your skin, like old friends you hoped you’d never see again, and now you have to speak with them like your languages are the same. Your tongue is unwilling to form the words, but the demons drag them out of you regardless, they come out twisted and fumbled. You hate everything they say.
A storm is brewing. You prepare your armor. Determine not to wait until it pulls the roof from off your house. Step straight into the maelstrom
and pull out your sword.
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