a history of violence
#3
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THE THINGS THAT I'VE LOVED
______THE THINGS THAT I'VE LOST




THE THINGS I'VE HELD SACRED
______________THAT I'VE DROPPED


_____ There was a subtle change in Ahren’s eyes, but his face was not his own. He smiled, and the smile broke into a grin before he was speaking, gesturing with his right hand. “Lucifer, right?” All too suddenly he swung the weapon around, loading it in one smooth motion. The speed was so much that his hands seemed to blur, but his good eye (and blind eye alike) did not leave the dark man. His hands were steady, his pace even—he advanced, keeping the arrow aimed for the chest. Even if Lucifer did try and move, he wouldn’t get far. If he called for help, Ahren would kill him then and there. His smile had vanished; all that remained was a cold, vicious rage. “I’m looking for you,” he explained, continuing to move forward. “My son told me an interesting story.”





I won't lie no more you can bet
I don't want to learn what I'll need to forget




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