[Along with the breeze from a cheery-tree courtyard comes the scent of cherry blossoms, and the faintly-metallic smell of blood. Someone is waking up from having
died.]
[A mop of brown hair pokes out the door and peeks both ways down the hallway just before a brownsprout stumbles out and leans against the opposite wall. Despite having to be pieced
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Yep, recognizes you now and hurrying over.] Are ya alright?
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...no. I just remember lots of black butterflies.
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Though, he does look at him when he mentions black butterflies.]
...Well, what's important is that you're alive now and the black butterflies are gone. [Or so he hopes, anyway]
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