"I was told by a priest, once, that God hates people like me. He sure makes it seem that way, nyan. Every time I make a wish, it twists...Every time I find something good, it breaks. Is it God? Is it luck? ...Is it me? Did I do something wrong, mya?" The woman in trenchcoat glanced at the window of the confessional, hoping that maybe, just maybe,
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