Behind Closed Doors [2/?]
anonymous
April 4 2011, 04:24:39 UTC
Norway gasped, tripping over his own feet in an attempt to feel and fell backwards on his ass.
Denmark’s chatter seemed to drift away as he stared at the heavily bandaged comatose figure on the bed; horror welling in the pit of his stomach.
Here he was, awake, and yet he hadn’t actually woken up. Though the healing powers of a nation were borderline supernatural, there was always enough pain to linger within them for months or even years at a time.
He felt nothing.
“I really am very, very sorry,” Denmark was babbling now, his voice rising and falling in broken pitch. “I didn’t mean to make you so upset; you know me - I speak before thinking. And I know it was my fault that you got hurt. You would have been suffered from that accident regardless, but I was the one that caused you to become one of the v-victims.
Of all the things Denmark could have done, Norway hadn’t expected him to cry. Never before, in all the time that he had known the boastful man, had he ever witnessed Denmark cry so openly. But there he was, crying quietly against one of Norway’s limp bandaged hands.
It was actually kind of creepy.
Unfortunately, much to his increasing displeasure, Norway discovered that he wasn’t capable of leaving the room no matter how hard he tried. With there being little he could do to escape Denmark’s constant chatter, shorter man sat at the foot of his bed and resigned himself to listen.
‘When I wake up Danmark, I will make suffer for this…’
For however long the one-sided conversation went on for, the somber of the two blonds was nearly asleep by the time Denmark suddenly froze in the middle of his longwinded speech, his eyes widening.
“Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit!”
Bemused, Norway yawned as he watched as the Dane began to look frantically around the room; ringing his hands like a little girl.
‘What are you doing, idiot?’
Denmark, of course, didn’t answer.
It was only when he, too, noticed the telltale patter of approaching footsteps that he understood why the other man was suddenly so panicked.
He wasn’t supposed to be here.
“Fucking hell - why now, damn it?” Denmark cursed, breathless as the footsteps continued to draw closer and the sound of hushed voice to be heard. “Shit!”
With nowhere else to go, the taller of the two blonds proceeded to stuff his tall lanky body into the cramped confines of the room’s tiny closet; shutting the doors tightly behind him.
No sooner had he secreted himself away did the main door to Norway’s room open and Iceland, Finland and Sweden enter.
Finland was busy fussing over an armload of begs that Sweden was currently carrying for him while Iceland had been designated to carry a large bouquet of flowers at was comprised of purple heather, mountain avens, lily of the valley, and twinflowers.
With a disgruntled huff, Iceland dumped the flowers none too gently onto the bedside table next to him - which Finland immediately retrieved was a cry of shock - and dropped sullenly into the recently vacated chair.
Aloof as usual, Sweden had deposited his own load and had chosen to stand by his door like some sort of sentinel.
Once Finland was finished arranging the flowers to his liking, he turned to Sweden and scowled when he noticed his partner’s stance
“Really now…” the smaller man sighed, exasperatedly. “Must you guard the door like a dog, Ruotsi? We haven’t seen Tanska since the accident, and after how you threatened him I highly doubt he’ll come to see Norja after that.”
Norway twitched, his eyes narrowing as he glanced back at Denmark’s hiding place.
‘That’s not likely,’ he muttered. ‘He’s already here…’
Re: Behind Closed Doors [2/?]
anonymous
April 4 2011, 23:45:54 UTC
Ahhhh, this is such an enjoyable read, author anon! Even though this is only at a few chapters, it's quickly becoming one of my favorite fills on the meme!
Why thank you! *blush, blush!* And too think that I was collecting three years worth of rust (my muse, that cruel witch, abandoned me!) Big thanks to everyone who has reviewed too - its good to know that I've still got it;)
Behind Closed Doors [3/?]
anonymous
April 8 2011, 04:45:43 UTC
I’ve been a busy girl and once more I think I’ve rushed this chapter. Mostly contains dialogue from the other three Nordics (this anon is a fail at doing a Swedish accent, I didn’t even bother…) Sigh!
Sweden grunted dismissively, arms crossed. “You have too much faith in him. He’ll come.”
Like a fly on the wall, Norway watched everything. This was he family and he knew them well, so despite the fact that bespectacled man was right; his words would do nothing to appease the smaller man.
“And you say that as if you want him to come.” Finland muttered, digging through one of the bags and finally handed Iceland a sandwich.
“I do not.”
“Then please just sit down.”
It hurt seeing Finland look rather desperate for some form of clemency, but there was nothing Norway could do to help him.
“No.”
The shorter man, finally through with diplomacy, suddenly snapped. “This is not Tanska’s fault!”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it is not!”
“It should have been him!”
Norway, unseen, toppled off the bed. Violet eyes wide, he gapped at Sweden. Much like Denmark’s open crying earlier, the Norwegian had never heard Sweden speak such ill of the former - even when Danish-Swedish relations had been at there worst.
“If anyone deserves this, it’s Danmark!” Sweden snarled. “After everything he’s done, it should have been him! Why should we be forced to suffer for his sins?”
“Ruotsi!”
“No! Do you have any ide - ”
“STOP IT!”
Much to Norway’s continued shock, as well as Finland and Sweden’s, Iceland was on his feet, sandwich crushed in his trembling fist.
“Please stop fighting.” Iceland hissed; his words rough and choked. “This is neither the time nor the place. If Danmörk come, then he comes. Despite everything that has happened, he deserves a chance at the very least to applogize to Noregur. Yes, he played a roll in what happened to my brother, but I will not hold him accountable for everything he’s done in the past. I’ve allowed myself to move on - its time that you did so as well.”
‘Island...’
Was this what it was like for Canada? He remembered when England had cursed the innocent younger nation out of spite of France. Ever since that day the boy has been trapped on the outside looking in; watching his family tare at each and being unable to stop them.
His own family, flawed and jaded, had a much longer and deeper history together. Where it had started and where it would end he did not know. they had always just been this way and it was hard to imagen them as anything else.
“I - ”
Iceland cut him off.
“No. It was a bad idea asking you to come here me, so leave. Please... just leave.”
Norway watched as Sweden stuggled soundlessly to protest before giving up with a curt nod and left the room without a word. Finland let out a breath, likewise nodding to the youngest Nordic and left the room as well - in the other direction.
Behind Closed Doors [4/?]
anonymous
April 8 2011, 04:49:25 UTC
Once there was silence and only one remained, the boy dropped bonelessly back into the chair.
“I am sorry you had to hear that.” Iceland sighed. “I don’t know what it is about you, but you’re the one that keeps this fucked up family ours from going insane. Finnland and Svíþjóð are at each others throats and nobody has seen hide nor hair of Danmörk since your accident. We need you.”
His young brother stood, dusting nonexistent dust off his trousers.
“I… I should probably go. I know I just got here, but… well it just doesn’t seem right staying anymore - not with the mood we’ve brought with us.”
He tried to follow Iceland as he move towards the door, but like the first time he had tried, he found that he could move no further. Glancing back into the room, the boy smiled sadly.
“Wake up soon, stóribróðir.”
‘I will do my best, lillebror.’
Long after his brother’s footsteps had vanished, the finally closet door slowly creaked open.
Stiff and awkward in his movements, the Denmark that stumbled out wasn’t the same one that had entered it. The Dane was breathing heavily, his face pale, his eyes bloodshot, and his body racked with tremors.
Clearing his throat but saying nothing, he placed a chaste kiss on Norway’s bandaged brow.
“Jeg elsker - ”
Norway didn’t get to hear Denmark finish what he was saying.
With those first two little (enormous) words, everything went black.
Behind Closed Doors [interlude]
anonymous
May 2 2011, 07:55:02 UTC
Okay, I will give you all some fair warning when I say that Norway and Denmark are going to be very OOC. The prompt itself was an invitation to walk on the wild side, so it’s defiantly AU. Please bare with me:)
-------------------------------------------------
Before light and consciousness returned, darkness surrounded him on both sides. Pale mists swirled around his feet nipping like dogs at his heels and whispered voices called out to him from beyond the veil; urging him to wake.
Come child
You haven’t much time
He could hear the sound of a harbour in early morning; the gull’s cry and the winds as they chased each other amongsts the sails and flags.
Hurry!
You must go.
You must stop the light from going out!
What light? There was no light of any kind here, but he had no voice of his own in which to disagree.
Re: Behind Closed Doors [5/?]
anonymous
May 2 2011, 07:59:49 UTC
Norway awoke was a strangled gasp, flailing as he was slammed back into the waking with the same force of the vehicle that had separated his conscious mind from his body only a few sort days before.
He lay still for several minutes, struggling to catch his breath and fight off the nauseating sensation of motion sickness. When movement no long ailed him, the Norwegian rolled over and he found himself staring at another different yet familiar ceiling.
With a disgruntled groan, Norway hefted himself up onto his elbows and took in the contents of the kitchen that belonged to Denmark’s København apartment. It looked no different from the last time he had been there (how long ago was that?) and there were still pictures of the five of them on the fridge (damn, Sweden looked angry in the one…) as well as the few crayon drawings from Sealand’s scrapbook.
The apartment itself was too quite though. Norway liked to believe that he knew Denmark well enough to know that any house of his was almost always alive with music.
Why am here? He wondered. I’d better not be stuck to that fool…
He left the kitchen and walking down the unnervingly silent hall towards the other main bedroom.
He paused briefly at Denmark’s open door - almost hesitantly - before entering. He was expectantly greeted by the sight of the other man rummaging around under him bed. A variety of odds and ends had been pushed to one side in a heap
Moments later Dane surfaced, bringing with him a… first aid kit?
Norway frowned. ‘What are you doing, dumbass?’
There was defiantly something off about his - must he admit it - friend. He watched as Denmark seated himself down on the edge of his bed, still not fully comprehending what he was seeing until the other man finally looked up.
‘Danmark?’
Denmark looked… old. Like really old. It was as if every one of the other nation’s countless centuries had finally caught up with him - leaving him a haggard defeated old man in a young man’s body.
And for someone as naturally vibrant as Denmark, it was just very, very wrong.
Not knowing he was being watched, the tired blond fumbled with his keys until he managed to locate the tiny key that would unlock the box in his hands.
‘Why on earth would he need a lockable first aid kit?’ Norway muttered to himself, as he sat down on the bed next to Denmark as the box opened with a soft click.
Inside was nothing more than an odd assortment of bandages, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, cotton swabs, a tube of anti-itch cream and a well-worn worry stone. Upon closer inspection, however, he realized that it wasn’t a worry stone but a rune stone.
It was the Wyrd stone.
The beginning and the end.
All confusion was pushed roughly aside when Denmark finally shifts the bandages aside, the contents underneath were revealed. Resting on the bottom of the box was an old-fashioned straight razor.
And even though the blade itself was closed, Norway could see the subtle telltale hit of dried blood.
Behind Closed Doors [6/?]
anonymous
May 2 2011, 08:04:03 UTC
It wasn’t possible… it just wasn’t possible!
His horrified suspicions were confirmed when the blond, razor in hand, began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.
Scars, some new and some fading marred the pale flesh all the way up to the Dane’s elbow.
He had been doing this for years.
Norway quaked in denial next to his friend. ‘No, no, no… Tell me you haven’t been doing this to yourself… tell me I’m imagining this.’
Denmark’s only reply was to scowl with distaste and scrub at the dried blood with the hem of his shirt.
“Hmm… you’re getting kind of dull,” he mused aloud as he tested the sharpness with his thumb. “I’m going to have to sharpen you soon.”
As the panic finally began to set in, Norway grabbed at Denmark’s shoulders to shake some sense into him - to beat the shit out of him, anything - but his hands only passed through the other man like that of a ghost’s.
‘Stop!’
Uable to touch and utterly helpless, he could do nothing as Denmark began to drag the sharp edge of the blade across his inner arm at the elbow.
Both men hissed as blade cut shallowly into flesh, drawing blood. It did not matter however many times Denmark cut himself and the fact would continue to remain unnoticed - no bloodstain could be visible amongst the sea of red that was the nation’s beloved Dannebrog bedspread.
“Is that enough blood for you Norge?”
Norway twitched, nauseous.
Denmark’s eyes had this faraway look in them. “No… it’s never enough, is it?” the blond muttered to himself, cutting again. “I’d have to bleed myself dry before my sins will ever be repaid.”
Another cut.
“Will you ever forgive me?” he sounded like a child. “I know I can’t go back, but I just want it to be like it used to be - back when it was just the two us. Before the others. Before you hated me.”
Denmark choked on a sob.
‘Damn it bastard, I don’t hate you!’
“No… no amount of recompense will ever satisfy you. Same goes for Sverige. The two of you will never be happy until I’m dead.”
‘That’s not true!’
Another cut. More blood.
‘Please stop!’
“I love you Norge.”
And it was here, behind closed doors where no one could see him cry, Norway began to weep.
Thanks!:) I actually started writing the majority of prts 5 and 6 first before I started writing the beginning - the angst called to me and needed to feed that beast!
A!A has returned!
anonymous
March 5 2012, 07:30:27 UTC
Oh God, I am so sorry! I never meant to leave you guys hanging like that. It was never my intention to abandon this story and since I know excuses don't mean much, I won’t bother giving any. I just hope you can forgive me for taking so long:’(
Denmark’s chatter seemed to drift away as he stared at the heavily bandaged comatose figure on the bed; horror welling in the pit of his stomach.
Here he was, awake, and yet he hadn’t actually woken up. Though the healing powers of a nation were borderline supernatural, there was always enough pain to linger within them for months or even years at a time.
He felt nothing.
“I really am very, very sorry,” Denmark was babbling now, his voice rising and falling in broken pitch. “I didn’t mean to make you so upset; you know me - I speak before thinking. And I know it was my fault that you got hurt. You would have been suffered from that accident regardless, but I was the one that caused you to become one of the v-victims.
Of all the things Denmark could have done, Norway hadn’t expected him to cry. Never before, in all the time that he had known the boastful man, had he ever witnessed Denmark cry so openly. But there he was, crying quietly against one of Norway’s limp bandaged hands.
It was actually kind of creepy.
Unfortunately, much to his increasing displeasure, Norway discovered that he wasn’t capable of leaving the room no matter how hard he tried. With there being little he could do to escape Denmark’s constant chatter, shorter man sat at the foot of his bed and resigned himself to listen.
‘When I wake up Danmark, I will make suffer for this…’
For however long the one-sided conversation went on for, the somber of the two blonds was nearly asleep by the time Denmark suddenly froze in the middle of his longwinded speech, his eyes widening.
“Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit!”
Bemused, Norway yawned as he watched as the Dane began to look frantically around the room; ringing his hands like a little girl.
‘What are you doing, idiot?’
Denmark, of course, didn’t answer.
It was only when he, too, noticed the telltale patter of approaching footsteps that he understood why the other man was suddenly so panicked.
He wasn’t supposed to be here.
“Fucking hell - why now, damn it?” Denmark cursed, breathless as the footsteps continued to draw closer and the sound of hushed voice to be heard. “Shit!”
With nowhere else to go, the taller of the two blonds proceeded to stuff his tall lanky body into the cramped confines of the room’s tiny closet; shutting the doors tightly behind him.
No sooner had he secreted himself away did the main door to Norway’s room open and Iceland, Finland and Sweden enter.
Finland was busy fussing over an armload of begs that Sweden was currently carrying for him while Iceland had been designated to carry a large bouquet of flowers at was comprised of purple heather, mountain avens, lily of the valley, and twinflowers.
With a disgruntled huff, Iceland dumped the flowers none too gently onto the bedside table next to him - which Finland immediately retrieved was a cry of shock - and dropped sullenly into the recently vacated chair.
Aloof as usual, Sweden had deposited his own load and had chosen to stand by his door like some sort of sentinel.
Once Finland was finished arranging the flowers to his liking, he turned to Sweden and scowled when he noticed his partner’s stance
“Really now…” the smaller man sighed, exasperatedly. “Must you guard the door like a dog, Ruotsi? We haven’t seen Tanska since the accident, and after how you threatened him I highly doubt he’ll come to see Norja after that.”
Norway twitched, his eyes narrowing as he glanced back at Denmark’s hiding place.
‘That’s not likely,’ he muttered. ‘He’s already here…’
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Sweden grunted dismissively, arms crossed. “You have too much faith in him. He’ll come.”
Like a fly on the wall, Norway watched everything. This was he family and he knew them well, so despite the fact that bespectacled man was right; his words would do nothing to appease the smaller man.
“And you say that as if you want him to come.” Finland muttered, digging through one of the bags and finally handed Iceland a sandwich.
“I do not.”
“Then please just sit down.”
It hurt seeing Finland look rather desperate for some form of clemency, but there was nothing Norway could do to help him.
“No.”
The shorter man, finally through with diplomacy, suddenly snapped. “This is not Tanska’s fault!”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it is not!”
“It should have been him!”
Norway, unseen, toppled off the bed. Violet eyes wide, he gapped at Sweden. Much like Denmark’s open crying earlier, the Norwegian had never heard Sweden speak such ill of the former - even when Danish-Swedish relations had been at there worst.
“If anyone deserves this, it’s Danmark!” Sweden snarled. “After everything he’s done, it should have been him! Why should we be forced to suffer for his sins?”
“Ruotsi!”
“No! Do you have any ide - ”
“STOP IT!”
Much to Norway’s continued shock, as well as Finland and Sweden’s, Iceland was on his feet, sandwich crushed in his trembling fist.
“Please stop fighting.” Iceland hissed; his words rough and choked. “This is neither the time nor the place. If Danmörk come, then he comes. Despite everything that has happened, he deserves a chance at the very least to applogize to Noregur. Yes, he played a roll in what happened to my brother, but I will not hold him accountable for everything he’s done in the past. I’ve allowed myself to move on - its time that you did so as well.”
‘Island...’
Was this what it was like for Canada? He remembered when England had cursed the innocent younger nation out of spite of France. Ever since that day the boy has been trapped on the outside looking in; watching his family tare at each and being unable to stop them.
His own family, flawed and jaded, had a much longer and deeper history together. Where it had started and where it would end he did not know. they had always just been this way and it was hard to imagen them as anything else.
“I - ”
Iceland cut him off.
“No. It was a bad idea asking you to come here me, so leave. Please... just leave.”
Norway watched as Sweden stuggled soundlessly to protest before giving up with a curt nod and left the room without a word. Finland let out a breath, likewise nodding to the youngest Nordic and left the room as well - in the other direction.
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“I am sorry you had to hear that.” Iceland sighed. “I don’t know what it is about you, but you’re the one that keeps this fucked up family ours from going insane. Finnland and Svíþjóð are at each others throats and nobody has seen hide nor hair of Danmörk since your accident. We need you.”
His young brother stood, dusting nonexistent dust off his trousers.
“I… I should probably go. I know I just got here, but… well it just doesn’t seem right staying anymore - not with the mood we’ve brought with us.”
He tried to follow Iceland as he move towards the door, but like the first time he had tried, he found that he could move no further. Glancing back into the room, the boy smiled sadly.
“Wake up soon, stóribróðir.”
‘I will do my best, lillebror.’
Long after his brother’s footsteps had vanished, the finally closet door slowly creaked open.
Stiff and awkward in his movements, the Denmark that stumbled out wasn’t the same one that had entered it. The Dane was breathing heavily, his face pale, his eyes bloodshot, and his body racked with tremors.
Clearing his throat but saying nothing, he placed a chaste kiss on Norway’s bandaged brow.
“Jeg elsker - ”
Norway didn’t get to hear Denmark finish what he was saying.
With those first two little (enormous) words, everything went black.
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Ah, this is so interesting. Please update soon~ -looks over at Denmark-
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-------------------------------------------------
Before light and consciousness returned, darkness surrounded him on both sides. Pale mists swirled around his feet nipping like dogs at his heels and whispered voices called out to him from beyond the veil; urging him to wake.
Come child
You haven’t much time
He could hear the sound of a harbour in early morning; the gull’s cry and the winds as they chased each other amongsts the sails and flags.
Hurry!
You must go.
You must stop the light from going out!
What light? There was no light of any kind here, but he had no voice of his own in which to disagree.
Go.
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He lay still for several minutes, struggling to catch his breath and fight off the nauseating sensation of motion sickness. When movement no long ailed him, the Norwegian rolled over and he found himself staring at another different yet familiar ceiling.
With a disgruntled groan, Norway hefted himself up onto his elbows and took in the contents of the kitchen that belonged to Denmark’s København apartment. It looked no different from the last time he had been there (how long ago was that?) and there were still pictures of the five of them on the fridge (damn, Sweden looked angry in the one…) as well as the few crayon drawings from Sealand’s scrapbook.
The apartment itself was too quite though. Norway liked to believe that he knew Denmark well enough to know that any house of his was almost always alive with music.
Why am here? He wondered. I’d better not be stuck to that fool…
He left the kitchen and walking down the unnervingly silent hall towards the other main bedroom.
He paused briefly at Denmark’s open door - almost hesitantly - before entering. He was expectantly greeted by the sight of the other man rummaging around under him bed. A variety of odds and ends had been pushed to one side in a heap
Moments later Dane surfaced, bringing with him a… first aid kit?
Norway frowned. ‘What are you doing, dumbass?’
There was defiantly something off about his - must he admit it - friend. He watched as Denmark seated himself down on the edge of his bed, still not fully comprehending what he was seeing until the other man finally looked up.
‘Danmark?’
Denmark looked… old. Like really old. It was as if every one of the other nation’s countless centuries had finally caught up with him - leaving him a haggard defeated old man in a young man’s body.
And for someone as naturally vibrant as Denmark, it was just very, very wrong.
Not knowing he was being watched, the tired blond fumbled with his keys until he managed to locate the tiny key that would unlock the box in his hands.
‘Why on earth would he need a lockable first aid kit?’ Norway muttered to himself, as he sat down on the bed next to Denmark as the box opened with a soft click.
Inside was nothing more than an odd assortment of bandages, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, cotton swabs, a tube of anti-itch cream and a well-worn worry stone. Upon closer inspection, however, he realized that it wasn’t a worry stone but a rune stone.
It was the Wyrd stone.
The beginning and the end.
All confusion was pushed roughly aside when Denmark finally shifts the bandages aside, the contents underneath were revealed. Resting on the bottom of the box was an old-fashioned straight razor.
And even though the blade itself was closed, Norway could see the subtle telltale hit of dried blood.
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His horrified suspicions were confirmed when the blond, razor in hand, began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.
Scars, some new and some fading marred the pale flesh all the way up to the Dane’s elbow.
He had been doing this for years.
Norway quaked in denial next to his friend. ‘No, no, no… Tell me you haven’t been doing this to yourself… tell me I’m imagining this.’
Denmark’s only reply was to scowl with distaste and scrub at the dried blood with the hem of his shirt.
“Hmm… you’re getting kind of dull,” he mused aloud as he tested the sharpness with his thumb. “I’m going to have to sharpen you soon.”
As the panic finally began to set in, Norway grabbed at Denmark’s shoulders to shake some sense into him - to beat the shit out of him, anything - but his hands only passed through the other man like that of a ghost’s.
‘Stop!’
Uable to touch and utterly helpless, he could do nothing as Denmark began to drag the sharp edge of the blade across his inner arm at the elbow.
Both men hissed as blade cut shallowly into flesh, drawing blood. It did not matter however many times Denmark cut himself and the fact would continue to remain unnoticed - no bloodstain could be visible amongst the sea of red that was the nation’s beloved Dannebrog bedspread.
“Is that enough blood for you Norge?”
Norway twitched, nauseous.
Denmark’s eyes had this faraway look in them. “No… it’s never enough, is it?” the blond muttered to himself, cutting again. “I’d have to bleed myself dry before my sins will ever be repaid.”
Another cut.
“Will you ever forgive me?” he sounded like a child. “I know I can’t go back, but I just want it to be like it used to be - back when it was just the two us. Before the others. Before you hated me.”
Denmark choked on a sob.
‘Damn it bastard, I don’t hate you!’
“No… no amount of recompense will ever satisfy you. Same goes for Sverige. The two of you will never be happy until I’m dead.”
‘That’s not true!’
Another cut. More blood.
‘Please stop!’
“I love you Norge.”
And it was here, behind closed doors where no one could see him cry, Norway began to weep.
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;A;
PLEASE..........DON'T ABANDON THIS. IT'S REALLY GOOD ;A; ;A;
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