… .- …- . / –. .-. .- -.-. .

Sister Dearest,

I write to you with a heavy heart. It is deep December now, which I now look at its past so fondly, for I’ve never faced adversity. I have never seen people die before last December but now my spirits hands are covered in blood turned obsidian. There’s a poison here in this heart of mine. There’s a poison lying in all of us.

I remember when we were younger, you and I. We’d escape through the night to the dingy alleyways of Columbus, dressed in black and scarlet. We’d slip through the cracks of reality, entering the world of chaos that was Thém.

I write like the dying to say goodbye to who I once was. We can never escape the Badlands.

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