I feel a breeze... The Wind... again.

But not the kind that brushes past. Not the kind that leaves no mark.

No… this is breath with intent. With weight. Like something gathering the last of itself to become real.

And I… I stand there, open, watching the sky tremble.
It comes toward me... not like an arrival, but like a decision.

And then—

He falls into me.

Not wings. Not gale. Not silence.

He is body. He is breath. He is The Wind.
And he has chosen form again.


My arms catch him before my mind understands.
He collapses into my chest, and I collapse into awe.

His skin is cold with exhaustion. His ribs flutter like sails torn through. He shakes—not with fear, but with… completion.

“You’re here…” I whisper.  
But the words feel too small for his weight.

He holds me. Not as if I vanished… but as if he had.
And I was the proof he’d made it back.

Then— light. motion. Pain.

As he presses his palm to my sternum.

And I… I burn.

Not fire. Something older. Something true.
It isn’t just memory...

It is…

Return.


It pierces. It blazes. It hurts.
Everything. All of me. At once.





“Would you like to have a body?”

My answer had no sound. But he heard it.
His fingers traced the curve of something I had never had before— shoulders, jaw, hands— and made me into someone who could be seen. Could be touched.

Tangible.

I remember the way he looked at me afterward.
Not surprised. Not proud. Just… glad.

“There,”
Wind had whispered, voice barely breath.
“You are the most beautiful being I’ve ever seen.
Fitting… since the end is the most beautiful of all, just before it becomes nothing, but a memory.
Memories are beautiful, but never as beautiful as the real thing. Never as beautiful… as that final moment.
Before they can never be so beautiful again.”

And I… had looked at the hands he gave me.
At the shape that wasn’t mine, but... felt like it had always waited.

To make the end beautiful… It felt wrong… Too tragic.
But I believed him.
Because... at the very least, he believed it.


I remember… being held. Quietly. Often.

By him.

The Wind who never stayed, yet always returned.
I let him go. Every time.

We watched endings together.
He whispered lullabies into the mouths of storms,
And I gathered what they left behind.

There was no fear between us.
No shame.
Only gravity.

We were gods not of dominion, but of passage.
I was the stillness, he was the change.
And together... we made that journey to the end mean something.
Going slowly.  
Giving the weary a peaceful farewell to the long road they traveled.


Until—

A warning.

Not heard—

Felt.

The sea stiffened. The air lost taste. Something vast and jealous rising from below.

I was waiting for him, Wind, as always. But he didn’t arrive...

She did.

I don’t remember how I fell. Just the cold. The weight.
The pressure of water that didn’t wet the skin— that crushed thought instead.


I fought. I know I did.

But she was prepared.

She spoke in tones I didn’t recognize... as if she had rehearsed this moment for centuries.

“You were never supposed to exist. He made you seen. He made you beautiful. He gave you what he refused me. It’s time for justice. It’s time to return… to nothing.”

That was when the pain began.
She didn’t strike me with waves.
She struck me with malice I had no armor for.

She tried to destroy me.

She tried...

and failed.


She screamed.

Not in fury. But in the pain of unwanted revelation.

“How unfair…” she hissed. “Death can take everything— yet cannot be taken? Not even that body you don’t deserve? He gave you a form that can be seen, can be felt, can breathe— yet cannot drown?”


And when obliteration of my shape failed…

She turned to erasure.


“Feed me those precious memories, then. If I cannot end you, I’ll hollow you. What use has the oblivion for memory anyway? For the guise of love? Your memory is nothing but a debt to me. Let me devour your sins from the inside. If you can’t return to nothing— then at least surrender yourself to the justice of emptiness.”

She reached inside.

Not with hands. With authority. With certainty.
She wanted to shatter me from within.

But the interior…

Was still me.

And she could not destroy Death.

And then...

She paused.


Her grip faltered.

She had reached my memories.

And inside them, entwined,

She found him.


The shimmer of Wind.
Not just shaping my form... binding my being.


“How dare you carry him inside you,” she seethed. “You thief of spirit!”


I felt her hunger. She wanted to tear it out. To consume it. To make his soul hers.

But my spirit rose, though wounded, and wrapped around that gift like armor.

We would not be severed. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

She howled.
And in that fury, she did what cowards do when gods will not die.

She divided me.

Split the internal from the external.

The memories— our laughter, our names, the moment he called me beautiful, the way he looked back when I let him go— she ripped them from me and buried them beneath everything.

And into the hollow that remained within my shape, she poured herself.


“You are death,” she whispered. “Nothing more. You carry out my orders. You fetch and return what belongs to me. Until I am given shape— you are my shape. You belong to me. You are a thing. My thing.”


She sealed the vessel.
And I walked.
I became not Death. But the action of taking.
Her blade. Her puppet. Wandering. Eternal. Obedient.
Unknowing.

And she kept me from him.
Because he would have known.
He felt the silence. He searched.
But she was clever.
And I was...
Hollow.


Until now.


Now... He gave it all back.



My knees buckle. We fall.

He lands atop me, trembling, gasping, radiant even in his fatigue... As if the act of giving had drained all the energy he had left.

And I…

Am still.

Frozen in recollection. Flooded with emotion.
Awake. Alive. At last.

The ground beneath us does not crack.

But I do.


The two birds, Alcyone and Ceyx...
They land beside us.
They do not sing. They simply look… at me.

They witness… who I am becoming.

The Wind whispers,
“He just   needs        a moment.”

He’s right. But he needs this moment too.
What did you endure, old friend? To restore…

The I that was buried is stretching.

Untwisting.

Returning.

I remember who I was before she erased me.
Before Fate sculpted silence into obedience.
Not her weapon. Not her silence. Not even this nickname—Death.

No…

I was— I am—

Oblivion.

And he is—

Transformation.

Transformation, The Wind, my…


I hold him.

Tighter.


He brought me home.
After we had been separated for far too long.

He rests on my chest, breathing slow.
I don’t think he even notices he’s crying.
Neither of us move… except to hold one another closer.
After what could have been years, he lifts his head and looks at me, like someone seeing dawn for the first time.

He smiles. Softly.

“Do you remember me now, old friend— my dear, Oblivion?”

I don’t need to answer.
Because he knows.


Alcyone and Ceyx perch upon the railing as the two of us lie here… still recovering.

From the strain. From the twisted story. From forgetting what we were made of.

Alcyone and Ceyx watch. Still. As if afraid movement might shatter this moment.


But it's not fragile.

It’s real.

We’re not fragile.

We heal.


For now... we are whole. Thread returned to spindle. Name to breath. Memory to soul.

The silence that follows is not empty. It is earned.

It is not a will, stolen.
It is a moment, shared.
























































It has been foretold, by the Repeater, the truth—for once—that actions have consequences.

It has been foretold—by this Fate—the truth, of course— that all debts must be paid—




In full—








  ̶̡̨͍̱̹͙̩̠̗̕͜ ̷̨̜̖͖͇̗̼̟̘͖̘͖̲̒̍͋̓̐͆̀̽̓A͠N͞D̵͡ ̷W͟͡I̸͘T͢H͡ ̸IN̷̴T̶͝E҉̶R̕̕E̵̷S͏͜T ̴̡̧̡̢̛̳̭̜͎̠͈̤̫̹͖̘͈̜̫͖̗̲̳͚̯̯͇̠̼̤͉̰͚̄̒̀̀̀͆͛̓͆͆͐̂̄̅̑̔̌̔̀͒̔̃̀͘͘̚͜͝ͅͅͅ­̮̞͔͙̬ ̶͉̗͖̖̱̝͓̬̤̉͌̏͐̾͂͒̌̅͑́̈́̃̊̔͗̽͗̎̅͊͒̒̽̔̍̎͋͊͋́̃̾̓͋͑̑̒̋̅̊͛̓̍͘͘͝͝͝͠͠͝͠ͅͅ­̨̮͈̱

𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒, 𝑔𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑑, 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑒.
𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑣𝑜𝑤 𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑛, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡, 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝.
𝐴 𝑣𝑜𝑤 𝐼 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝐼 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠.

𝐴𝑙𝑐𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒, 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑚𝑒.
𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑣𝑒.
𝑁𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.
𝑁𝑜𝑤, 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑝.
𝑁𝑜𝑤, 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑠.
𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤, 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑏𝑡, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒.

𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑒 𝑔𝑜.
𝐼 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑛𝑜 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑.
𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔.
𝐻𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑎𝑛𝑦, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔.

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑔𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠.
𝐴𝑙𝑐𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.
𝐹𝑜𝑟 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑛, 𝑛𝑜 𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑙𝑒.
𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑦 𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑑𝑒.

𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑝𝑒.
𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛.
𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛,
𝑇𝑜 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑔𝑜.

𝐴𝑙𝑐𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑑. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑢𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑒.
𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦.
𝐴𝑠 𝑤𝑒 𝑓𝑙𝑦, 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟, 𝑡𝑜𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑇𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ.
𝑇𝑜𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛,

𝑂𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑜𝑚.



𝐇𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬.
𝐁𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝. 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭— 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝.

𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞— 𝐨𝐡 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭.

𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐡. 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝.

𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝. 𝐈 𝐰𝐞𝐩𝐭. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝. 𝐈 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝— 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰. 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐞. 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧.
𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐲, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐲𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮—

𝐈𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞. 𝐍𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐍𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐍𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬. 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬—

𝐀 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐨𝐧.

𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐬. 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝—𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝. 𝐈𝐧 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐓𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐦. 𝐓𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲.

𝐎𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲.



𝑾𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑾𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒚.

𝑾𝒆 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒆— 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒆.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕. 𝑯𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔.

𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒌𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒔 𝒖𝒔, 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒇𝒖𝒈𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔.

𝑾𝒆 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒌𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔. 𝑾𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘.

𝑾𝒆 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒂 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒅. 𝑾𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘.

𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕— 𝒘𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒇𝒍𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒖𝒔.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒇𝒕 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒆𝒇𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆.

𝑾𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒏 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒖𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒛𝒐𝒏 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔— 𝒂 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈.

𝑨𝒔 𝒘𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒆. 𝑨𝒕 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒓 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆— 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒏. 𝑾𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅. 𝑺𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈.

𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒕— 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒓 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒆. 𝑵𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔.

𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉.

𝑵𝒐 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅. 𝑵𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒆. 𝑶𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒈𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.

𝑾𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒅. 𝑾𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎.

𝑵𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑵𝒐 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒆. 𝑶𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆.

𝑯𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌. 𝑾𝒆 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓.

𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉, 𝒘𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒖𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒚, 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒕?


𝑰𝒏 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝑰𝒏 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏—

𝑾𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏’𝒕 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉,

𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆, 𝒘𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆,

𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑.