running with scissors
#2
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indent Addiction had been the main cause to Damian’s madness and eventual death. His father had lost himself in the curse of a red dragon, from the smoke that Ahren could identify still to the drug he had shot up into his arm nights when Misery slept uneasily at his side. Addicts to narcotics, to love, become so caught up in the squirrel-cage of self that they go mad and rend their souls asunder. So too fell Damian de le Poer, the Crimson King, the Walkin’ Dude, the bastard son of a madman and a whore. All men in time become their fathers; this was one thing Ahren feared above all else.
indent She pushed him, the way a child does, knowing that they cannot be struck. Ahren had never struck any daughter; though he had once driven Corona so far away that the rift between them had never completely healed. She was his favorite, of this there was no doubt. “Eventually,” he said after a moment, aware this sounded very much like a lie. “It won’t change anything.” He had left her. She was the only one he had left. The other two had run.





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