“He would’ve been the death of me, you see. A mindless buffoon, lost in the embrace of his whiskey bottle instead of me. They insisted I grieve a living thing—eyes wide open, glazed over—a mindless, breathing heathen. But that darkness within him drained life from all he touched, casting shadows on the mind. Right and wrong blurred, and even the light itself began to question its purpose"
© 𝓢.𝓟𝓸𝓽

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