[It's comforting to lie to herself and pretend that every soft part of her has died, some by her own hand and some by a sword in her side and that quiet apology echoing in the darkness. Unfortunately, none of that is ever true, and whatever tender emotion that slips past her guard seems inevitably chased by a certain sadness too.]
Freedom. It's the freedom to live every day however you want to.
I remember thinking almost the same sort of thing. A long time ago. But I think they're all beautiful dreams too, and I don't fucking know why any of it should be impossible.
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Freedom. It's the freedom to live every day however you want to.
I remember thinking almost the same sort of thing. A long time ago. But I think they're all beautiful dreams too, and I don't fucking know why any of it should be impossible.