There's a hazy sort of half-light that filters in through the palm trees lined against the road - twilight, or perhaps dawn. The sky overhead is darker, unobstructed, but not quite clear; the pervasive smog in this city makes it difficult to call any day (or night, for that matter) truly clearB walks for another few steps, then stops, looks up at
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[Marluxia slipped around the graves, his tread light as if worried about awakening the dead. Crouching beside him, he looked around hesitantly, his cloak pooling about them.]
This is their world. We'd all best not disturb it...
[He walked across the grass, trying to reach the younger boy, to take him by the arm gently.]
Let us make haste.
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He's not ready to leave yet.
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[Marluxia looked up from the boy over to B, curious.]
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I don't think he knows. For the heavy feeling in his heart to dissipate, perhaps.
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We're supposed to be here.
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[his head snaps around to look at the child appraisingly.]
Playing at death?
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Death isn't a game.
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We're waiting to join them.
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[he chuckled as if he didn't believe.[
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[His tone is frank. He does not try to convince them to do otherwise.]
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It's inevitable.
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