[A stray hand seemed to brush against an idle PCD as it turned on with a flicker. It shows nothing but black hair against fair skin until a small incoherent murmur follows, the black curtains shift. A young face is exposed contorted into what seems a wishful and tragic expression to be rid of the nightmares behind those closed lids. If the dark
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O-Otuoto?
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You're too old.
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Still crimson eyes watch on, staring before bringing forth a sigh. He's really far to old for this. ]
Death has not yet graced us with her presence.
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A part of him feels like there's a scolding coming soon.]
Then what of fate?
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Disrupted. Put on hold at least, at the discretion of whatever it was that has brought us here.
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