Life and death will never be the same.
The Seven play me like a pawn, but even in chess, a pawn can take another piece.
I am left nothing but a bird without wings, a fish without gills or water.
Choose a metaphor.
Either way, the Seven live in me, and this may be the only way to get rid of them.
God have mercy on my soul if they kill me before they leave my body.
They will live in my pen, and die on my paper.
Unless they get to me first.
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