He's heard that before, its kind and its approximations. All pretty, dainty, impossible lies. Myths and tragedy. But then, he has lived through that and survived its thrall, and now he faces it again, its wonder.
He follows, until it seems as if the road is done, and there's a glimpse of light between two cracked doors, the same the man had forecast he'd encounter. He should ask how he knew, in pitch dark. It doesn't matter.
"Probably. Well. Look after yourself." Don't... die, in the way of people who say they never would, then do.
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He's heard that before, its kind and its approximations. All pretty, dainty, impossible lies. Myths and tragedy. But then, he has lived through that and survived its thrall, and now he faces it again, its wonder.
He follows, until it seems as if the road is done, and there's a glimpse of light between two cracked doors, the same the man had forecast he'd encounter. He should ask how he knew, in pitch dark. It doesn't matter.
"Probably. Well. Look after yourself." Don't... die, in the way of people who say they never would, then do.