or buried beneath the stones
#11
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Pendzez was quick to correct him, which the Patriarch partially expected; there was no way the righteous, just white wolf would let his leader get away with accusing his newborns as plausible demonic spawn. Jefferson's tattered ear twitched some, unimpressed by the Nuncio's response; so it was up to Jefferson himself whether or not he was good enough to be reborn when the afterlife was ready for him? Bullshit. The cyclops had little faith in spirits, but when it came to his own fate, he knew it didn't fall in his grasp. The cyclops had barely been able to grasp what had already happened to him, what with the amnesia and such. Redemption for his sins was already long past. "Well," he shrugged, "solved that loophole." And that was the end of that.


"I have several siblings, most of which aren't around and all of which I don't remember from my youth." Green eye glanced over the headstones. Were any of them buried here? Was any of his family resting beneath the soil, potentially inches away from his feet? Even if they were, the cyclops probably couldn't identify them, nor ever put a face to their names. "Two of my younger step-siblings live in Dahlia, but neither of them are trustworthy. My adopted brother is dead." Laruku had been adopted, yes, but Jefferson couldn't remember it. They'd been close once, but that was just another memory and experience his amnesia had robbed from him.


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