卒業

[Cicadan]

' Out
out out out
so uh
apparently when you're angry enough you literally cannot breathe '

She couldn't see his face, a fact that was nearly omnipresent in their friendship, a fact she was once glad for. She was already feeling kicked in the teeth and punched in the gut as was, just being able to imagine the contempt in his eyes off the timbre of his voice.

The worst part was, she agreed. She always kind of had. Her friends were lucky to be dragging around dead weight like her, yeah. For sure.

"Not to the extent that you do. Yeah. I get that."

She finally freed the air trapped in her lungs. It lazily dripped down her shirt. Too heavy from exhaustion, from the deep sort of ire Sayuna only knew how to feel in an instant before it burned and hollowed her out. She didn't live to feel like this.

"Doesn't mean you get to accuse me of failing you. If that makes me a bad friend, fine. I'm used to being one."

She didn't know what would make her happier. If he admitted she had a point or if he doubled down. Vindication either way. It went down the gullet like a good meal- depended on who it was for. Bitter wasn't her favorite palette but at least it made her feel something, feel alive.

She pressed a knuckle into her eye socket hard enough that she had to remember she had eyes in the first place.

"But I was never the one staring. Or screaming, or throwing up, because news flash, Ray, even if I am a bad friend I am your friend and I would really, really appreciate it if you considered that fact before going off on me."

She'd tried. She'd failed, inevitably, invariably, but she'd tried. When had that stopped being enough?

[carduinal-cyn]

On an intellectual level, Raymond LaSalle understood that he and Sayuna were as close of friends as possible. Not quite the kinship he and Austin shared, of course, but the fact that he had more than one person he could hang out with at all was something he considered a blessing. Sayuna's words struck right at the heart of his psyche. He shut his eyes, and once more he felt a tear roll down his cheek... along with chunks of his face. He wasn't sure what response he could muster. All of them would be pathetic. He resigned himself to saying nothing at all until he could return himself to normal.

Deep within Ray's melted hand, Sayuna's once-dainty fingers were growing soft and pliable. He recognized the feeling. He'd used his Gift to stretch his way up to many a distant cookie jar as a little boy, and it always left his arms with the consistency of a chewed-up Tootsie Roll. Once, when he was barely old enough to remember his own name, he'd punched a boy hard enough to leave his face like that. They'd fused together. Only a trip to the hospital and a quick primer on his own Gift had saved him from eating a hole clean through the other boy's cheek.

The powerful enzymes in Raymond's hand were working away at Sayuna now, sucking the nutrients from her supple kin. He had begun to feed. Trails of thick saliva dripped from the roof of his now-gaping mouth. But he was too tired, too emotionally drained to mumble out a warning.

Then, he tasted iron.

"Sayuna, let go!" he growled. "Or you'll lose your hand for good...!"

[Dogs231]

In the background, there were quiet voices, muffled and murky to Noah's ears. He assumed the two had taken a moment to catch up; they were close, he knew, and they had lots to discuss in their current situation.

He unzipped the bag and drew a bottle from inside it. He unscrewed the plastic cap, raised it, and took a long drink of water. The last time he'd had any was in the morning, with his medication. He hadn't even realized how parched he was until he started to drink.

He wiped a drop of water from his lips, then screwed the cap back on and put the empty bottle back in the daypack. He sighed, a slight chill from the cool air running through his body.

In the background, the voices grew louder, angrier, more audible. A pang of anxiety shot through Noah like an arrow; he didn't know what had set it off, but he could tell that an argument had broken out.

Noah threw the door open and stormed inside, breath shaky and uncertain. Raymond and Sayuna shouted and growled back and forth, two hands fused into a pile of wax-like skin. He knew Raymond's power well enough to realize what had begun to happen.

He'd stepped away, and her safety was now at risk. He had to do something, anything.

"Sayuna!" he called out, voice fraught with worry, "Get back, now!"

Noah closed the distance between them in a swift burst of motion and reached out to try and pull her away. His hands trembled, his eyes darted back and forth between the two faces and the melted flesh.

He had to do something.

He had to protect her.

No matter what.

[Cicadan]

Lose her-?

Sound of the screaming, the righteous indignation that she didn't even like the sound of, it echoed louder in the echo chamber than anything outside of it. Right, right, Ray's stress was probably causing him to start doing... the thing that supposedly looked hideous and terrifying and, uh, yeah, no eyes in public, she didn't know, yet she wasn't allowed any excuse for not treating it like the end of the world. Uh-huh. Right. She'd just pull her hands back now like she was supposed to, little cute (said all the older men, all the older women) puppet girl dancing on her string, mmhm, sure, she'd be right on that-

Oh god, right. Noah still existed.

' I would normally be
ecstatic
to hear him when I feel this shitty
wait why am I angry at him now too what
Sayuna hello
stop?? '

"Uh, fuck off, Noah-"

Wow, exasperated little bitch sound. Normally only Natsumi could pull something that insufferable sounding off. Sayuna wrenched herself away from with with all the force she could muster. Inevitably she probably only freed herself because she surprised him, because of course she lacked the big girl agency to do anything on her own.

"This doesn't even involve you!"

Still, force of the jerking herself out of his grip sent her hurtling forward into... a pool of something? She staggered forward and the bulk of the impact was spent with her left arm sinking into something through to the elbow, and the right arm all the way up to the sleeves of her stink-dry skirt. Twisting as she had in her petulant attempt to free herself one flank of her shirt was covered with...?

"Amazingly, I can handle this perfectly fine on my own-"

' Wait.
Did Ray actually- '

She hadn't thought-
and she didn't have time to when her every individual bundle of nervous cell down the length of both arms at once confirmed what was going on. The final signal they'd ever send as they were digested away.

Eerily like a hug. Sinking into the warmth of another- minus the inhumane agony.

She'd never made a sound quite so ugly before. It kind of sounded like her, but in the worst way. It intensified, dripping like bile out of her throat, raw slaughtered animal meat panic as kinetic force from some ungodly force suddenly began to accelerate more of her into her friend.

[Dogs231]

Each word hit Noah like a bullet, and each sound shattered little bits and pieces of his heart like so much glass. The whole situation took him by surprise; as far as he could remember, the two of them had never argued like this.

A moment of shock loosened his grip, and Sayuna pried herself away. He felt a hand push against his chest and stumbled backward, his balance disrupted; for a moment, the world was a blur, and the voice in the background was muted and immaterial.

Noah caught himself on the wall beside him and pulled himself to a stand. He took a few moments to put himself upright; once he had regained his balance, his eyes began to refocus, and his head slowly ceased to spin.

When he could see again, he realized that the worst had come to pass; Sayuna fell backward into the oozing mass that was Raymond, form blurred as if viewed through a rain-covered window. The other boy's face warped like a skull candle, body indistinguishable save for the clothes on his seeped back, Sayuna's arms fused to his torso.

He had to do something.

He had to do anything.

He had to, no matter what.

Her life was at stake.

He charged forward, his voice silent save for the terrified hiss in his throat, and tried to reach for her again; his arm caught her shoulder, and he heaved her back from the brink from within the jumbled heap of bones, flesh, and skin that Noah once called a friend.

He didn't tell himself anything. He couldn't muster a coherent thought as his world fell to pieces, came apart like little cords of string from a shirt, and stretched and tore like melted dermis.

[carduinal-cyn]

Everything began to pass Raymond by in a blur once Noah arrived. Leave it to a good boyfriend to break up an argument between best friends. Wasn't even much of an argument, really. All Ray had done was vent his anger a bit, and when he realized Sayuna might have been in danger, he'd only yelled to save her. Of course Noah wasn't going to let a half-melted flesh-monster-boy explain himself. That would be folly. Perhaps love really was blind, as clichéd as that sentiment might be.

Ray could taste his clothes through his torso. He was forever grateful that his nakedness was little more than another part of the blob once he'd fully melted. That really would be the kiss of death.

And then, the familiar flavor hit his form again.

Suddenly Sayuna was there and she was inside him with both her arms and they'd already been more than softened up. The unholy scream told him everything. He never asked for this. He would have to live with the fact that he'd disfigured her forever. An unforgivable accident.

The melting boy's panic quickly consumed him. Soon he could barely form his mouth into a coherent shape. Skin dripped over his right eye. I can't see! he screamed in his head, but no words of panic dared fall from his maw.

By the time Noah yanked Sayuna free, Raymond realized he might never see what he'd done to her.

[Cicadan]

Static... bloody, squishy sounding. She lay on the ground now, her breath already barely heard, but still. In, pause, out, pause. The pauses drifted, longer. She'd stopped screaming already, but only because she definitely didn't have the strength. Instead she whimpered. Breathed, whimpered some more.

Her image of herself and her actual self no longer aligned. Too much was missing, and what was left was... leaking. If she wanted to move an arm she couldn't, not anymore. She'd fallen into Ray on her side- that side was... there, but it might as well have not been. Shirt digested cleanly from shoulder to hip, exposed skin the color of uncooked gelatin now blossoming a raw meat color as it violently oozed.

It was surprisingly quiet. Everything sounded far away. She herself was far away... no, still there.

Whatever had happened to get her here, she'd already completely forgotten about. Probably hadn't been important. So was she dying for nothing, then?

That fact seemed like it should have stung, but she didn't feel much of anything anymore.

Vaguely, she still wanted to be there for them though. If she thought about it, with whatever she had left in the untied meat sack of her body, she didn't have the strength to will herself to live. Surviving was... it would have been nice, but she had always assumed others would be surviving and she'd be along for the ride. Yeah, that was it. If she was going to die it wasn't up to her to save herself. That sounded about right.

Nobody could do anything for her. She was okay with that.

"Noah."

The voice came out as her own. She heard somebody else. A friend, any one of them, whoever she was trying to be, who had the fortitude to have been there, lying where she was, being stronger than she'd ever been. A hero to her, still playing that role in her final moments.

"Not his fault. It's okay."

She was convincing herself, using the words others would have convinced her with. It was working. She just had to take comfort in being not alone. Her blindfold drifted off the sweaty, weakly trembling plaster mold of her face.

[Dogs231]

Noah stood kneeling on the floor, his arms a cradle; Sayuna's head rested gently on his left arm, and his right wrapped around her, afraid to let her go. His hands were still, his body frozen in shock.

The tears welled in his eyes and cascaded down his face like a tributary towards the ocean. The crimson red waves flowed across them, soaked into and leaked from their now-stained clothes, the ground below them a shallow but emergent reservoir.

Noah stared down at her broken figure, her skin raw and torn, her wounds sprawled end-to-end, and he still couldn't see anything but Sayuna, the girl he loved, the friend forever, the bandmate, the classmate, the person, and a million other things that would all soon come to an end.

He wanted to tell her that everything would be okay, but that would be an unforgivable lie. No amount of delusion could convince him of that anymore; the optimism was gone, decimated in the wake of the horror he felt and saw.

He wanted to do something, anything, to help her. Noah felt he owed her that much after everything they'd gone through together. It would be in vain, he knew, an effort rendered moot. There was nothing, nothing he could do to save her, despite the promises he told himself once.

The one consolation was that he could still hear her voice, small and weak, beyond the clouded chaos that swirled in his head. He pulled her closer, held her tighter, desperate to keep her near, and let her whispers ring in his ears. A plea for forgiveness that he registered but didn't understand, a request that he wasn't sure he could ever truly fulfill.

He tried to think of something to say in response, but all that left his throat was an amalgam of choked sobs and sputtered sorries, a cacophony that formed a death rattle of emotion.

As he tried to force himself to speak, he saw a pink glow arise from behind a rising curtain.

[Cicadan]

A̵̧̬͍̱͚̰͚͚̗̳̙̫̝̻̽̔͜A̸̡̢̹͚͖̤̗̬͚̬͐̒̉̽͂̀͆͑͂͒͘͘͜Á̸̧̨̨̲̘̰̦̺̮̹͚̪̜̜̝̗̙̦̒̍̋͒͜A̷̡̘͉̬̣̹͕͆̒̃́̅̕A̶̛͇̪̥͙̭̖̭͆̂́̎̒͌̈́A̸̢̡̗̪͈̙̝̠͔͎͚͝Á̵͖̹̫̪̟̟̥̜̬̫̤̹̮͈͈Å̸͓̻͉̼̮̦̣̯͇̯̙͕̤̹̰̏̑͊́͗̈́̓͛̿͊̀̈̈́̕Ą̸̮̪̬͕͎̖̺̫̙͎̹̤̼͚̖͐̂̈́̍́͆̌̎̈́̉̕͜͜͠Ầ̷̰̼̼͚̯̗̟̟̪̣̓͛́͆̆͂̓͌̀͒̄̊́̿͂̚̚Ą̶͚̹̭̖͆̾͗͆͋̄̾̎̅͂̔͘͝͝Ẩ̶̻̜̝̗͓͇̘͕̗̭̝̠͖̣̩̝̞̌̽͂̈͘A̵̡̧̨̺͉̤̖̤̦̱̐͊͊̒̽̿́̂͌̎̾͗̉̈̕̕̚͜À̶̧̡̯͓͎̜͖̲̬̗̰̮̞̦̫̩̉̀̌̋̂͛̉̓̿̇͒́̈́͒̋͜͜͝À̵̧̖͖͙̮͍͕̞̜̯̯̝̂͆̍̈́̽͑͆̋̎͛̉͛͜A̵̝̫̯͈͇͇̝̹̥̱̱̝̜̟̝͓̮̘̎̊̂̀̈́̂͛̉̓͝Á̶̘̪͚͔͉͚̝̰̩͎̘͔̠̯͖̪̘̮̥̾͐͛̍̉̍̑̆̚Â̴̘͙̣̤͔̪͒̈́̔͋̃̇͛̌́͂̈́͒̋̀̃̔͝ͅÄ̸͖́̐̉A̴̖̩͙̳̘͍̙͔̺̿͐͊̉̃͋̄̃̄Ȃ̵̧̮͍̭͉̥Ȧ̵̪̲̺͔͓̖̺̥̰̝̻͈̺̟̼̏͋̉̎̌̏́̄̈́͑̕͜ͅÁ̵̧̡̛͉͓͍͉̣̀̃̑͘͜Ȧ̵̙͍̫̙̟̟̟͓̤̓̌̂̈́.̸̢̛̙͇̅̒̀͛͐̆̓̈̂͐̆̃̚͘͝.̷̭̻̠̳͈̜̿͆̄̌́̀͐̓̋̔̆̅͊̚͝͝ͅ.̴̮̘̣̱͈̖̗͕͖̬̀͒̓̃͜ͅͅ.̷̧̬͎̫̟̗̫̬̣̦̺̤̗̥̩͕̮̯͈̃̀͑̊̈͆̇̽͆͐͊̓̈́̕̕͘.̶̳̫̪͑͗̓͋̊́̔̂͆͌́̿͌͆͘̚͝͝͝.̷̧̫̗̭̲̜̜͈͇̳̳̤͆̏̀͋̀̚͜͝͝.̵̠̩̯̣̘͈͈̳̺̀̀̏́.̵̛̼̱̖̗̺̗̬̰̟̙̻̜̩͓̯͉̊̔̓̂͌̌͑͒͌̌̔͗͒̈́̚͜͠.̶̢̢̫̲͉͓̠̜̱̊̔.̵̧̧̻͍̗͈̰̖̎͑͊͛̈̈͂͑̀̃̾̆̏̆̚͝.̸̡̢̧̫̟͇̩̬͓͖͉̤̜̮͑́͛͑̐̊̀́̅͋͆̊̔̎̊͐̔̉̀.̶̨̛͔̩̖̥̳̹̠̭̞̜̬͚̮̣̦̖́̀̂̍̓̋͒̇̔̎̍͘͘̚.̶̛̙̹̱̼̺̰͔͇̤̻̠̇̇̈̌̌̈́̈͊̀̊̀̒̆̉̕͝ͅ.̷̡̡̨̝̻̲̭͙̯͕͚̲̙̳̟̥́̐͜͝ͅ.̴̢̛̩̹̼̬͉̩̭͖̝͔͉͎̠̦̈́̉̅̈́̎̇̎̉̍̇͌̔̏͘̚͜͠.̴̭̭̝̒͒͒̓́̃͆̀̈́̉̆͛͐̊̏̃̚͠͠.̶̙̰͓̞̰̮͇͉̈̃̔͒̃̒̀̾͝͝͠.̶̧̛̳̮̻̮̰͙̰̪̜̣͚̫̣̼̪͖͛̈̿̍̀̇̔̀̽̋͛̐̆͛̑̅̚̚͜ͅ.̸̞̱̻͉̜̱͉͙̟̩͙̞̹̀̀̌̍̊͌.̵̢͔̲̞͕̞̗͈͔͇̠̩̠̙͌̔̌̇̈́̈͊͛̇́͜͠ͅ.̶̙̥̮̰̩̮͈̐̿̓͛̍̿̉̓͘.̸̢̡͇͍͖͎͎̪̦̞̹͚̈̈͑̓̃͌̅̈́͋̐͝.̴̠̻̠̈́̔͆̈̄̈̿.̵̱̫͠ͅ.̷͉̥̝̱̣͛́̽̋̄̓̈́̒͌̆̇͑͑̀.̵̧̨̣̺͇̞̭̜̳̞̗̩̜͉́͛́͘͜.̶͇͕̬͖̪̼͑̆.̸͈̌́̇̎̔͆͝Ą̷̨̳̟̲̜͎͚͕͓͈͍͓̭̥̲̏̔́͂̃̒̏̈́̾̀̍͆̃͌̑͒̐̚̕ͅẢ̷̡̧̨͉̙͚̱̯̟̲͓̀̈́̀̐͑͑̓A̶̢̧͎̗̫͎̦̝̭̞͉̦̻̜̪͎͛̄̾́͂͌͛́̉̊̌̚͝͝ͅͅḀ̴̧̟̲̯̘̬̔̏A̵͓͎͌͋͜À̵̡͓̣͙̥͔̮̭̰̣̺̙̉̏͠A̷̼̳͙̞̤̹̒̇A̴͇̣̹̟̺̯̥͍͍͈̋͂̐̊͑̓͑̓͑̇̈́̀͌͐͐͛̕͝͠Á̴̧̛̻̞̥̤̰̪̳̥͚͈́͂͆͆̎̈́̎̈́͛͒̋͛̓͝͝͝͝A̵̼̦̝͇͈̬͍͈̞̼̤͓̣̱͔̠̬̱̔̿͋̇̈́̊̌͐͠Ä̷̡̨̻̪̠̲̞͓͙́͒̈́ͅA̸̛͚̘̥̮̅̈́͋̌̀̓̓̿̀̅̾̒̕̚͜͝A̸̜̜͚͐̂̍͂̓̽͋̃͗͐́̑̃͊̆̕̕͘Ã̵̧̛͕̬̆̃̐̿̾͌̌̚Ǎ̷̬̠̖̰͎̙͙̱͔̮͊̚ͅ.̷͇̬̥͎̘͕̆̀̔̐̂̈̓̽̀̉̀͝.̶̨̧̛̻̘͉̹̜̲̯͖̀̋̆̾̔͂̋͐̀̕͜͠.̵̧̨̛̝̞̠̪̳̤̮̏́̀̎̊͐̔̍͌̿́͛̓̚͜͜.̷̜̜̗̬͙̬̼̦̻͚͓̺̞̙̜͚͍͉͑͗̋͋̃̓̆̊̔̾̂͐̆̌̃͠͝.̵̢͓͖̣̗̟͓̺͎̞̮̙̩̥̓̈͋̈͒̉͗̽̏̿̕͠.̵̡̤̥͍̊͑͒͑̅̈͒̏̈́́͊͝.̸̩̟̳̮̜͓͍̖̦̯̓͆̂̉́͗̾͐̓̚ͅͅ.̵̣̟͕͕̀̿̓͊͒̚.̴̲̝̣̯̮̲̞̝͙͝.̴̛̬̬̉͋̐̈́̈͒̊̈̑̂́̐͑͊̀̕͝͠ͅ.̴̧͓͍̥̭̥̝̫̞̻̮͈̣̝͗̉̋͑͑͋̓̊͆͆̔͠͠͝.̶̭̼̱͎̥̬͖̂̆͜.̷̠̣̤̜̱͖̪́͌́̈͒̑́̈́̀͛̆́́̀͋͘͠͝.̸̨̡̥̮̝̻̟̞͕̟̗̹͍̠͕̗̗͉̽̓̽͛̿̐̆̆̉̍͊͝ͅ.̷̞͎̳̹̗̦̳͙̬̗̺̜͂̒̓̄͛͊̐̅̄̿̀͠ͅͅ.̷̬̱͖͇̙̱̲̦̞̪̩̜̖͇̦̍̈́͌́̓̀̄͌͋̿͒̿̀̕͝.̸̛̮̬̎̔̆̽̿͗̂̊͊̉.̴͖̯͔̙͎̈́̃ͅ.̵̻̣͕͍̙̰̽̇͑̽̄̇̔͛͌͜.̶̢̨̛̝̱̟͍̝͚̘͎͈̤̞̻͔̝̜͕͓͆͐͑̏̋̀͑̇͐̾͗͝͝.̵̤̳͎̰͙̰͔̝̜̻͓̃̋̍̊͛̀̍́̄̆͠ͅ.̶̨͚̱̙̯͆.̷̡̢̨͉̬̱̱̯̙̫̟̩͍̲̱̈́͋͒̋̒̎͂͐̊̿͌̈́͜͜͝.̶̡̬̤̱̖̺̪̬͎̳̤̘̦̺̮͎̰̏̅̍̈́̑͝͝ͅ.̴̡͕̮̻̝̻̫̰̎̊̀̓̑͋̆̓͠.̷̛̜̦̪͚̳̰̦̹͇̥̗̞̙̿͐̃̔̆͊̎̀͂͛̾̿͜͝.̵͉̻̺̦̬̯̘̦̥͈̀̿̈́͑̍͋̿̍̀̽͛̈́.̵̛̫̮̗͇̫̦̪͔̪̐̈́̏̀͆̈́̀̂̒̄̽̈.̴͓͕̥̪̻̟̲̥͖̠̰̱̝̟̅̃.̷̨̢̼͚͈͖͎̜͚̘͚̝͉̠̖̼̈́͌̉̒͒͐̎̈́.̴̡̗̩̜̼̞̤̗̤̝̞̖̜̯̥̈͂̓̍̇͗̾̑̿͑͜.̶̤͓̲̳̈́́͂́͛͛̀̐̒̃͌͠.̵̨͙̳̳̗̜̠͖͈̭͖̭̦̭̠̗͛̀̐͗ͅ.̵͍̩̥̺͐͛͋͛͜͝.̵̛̫͉̥̌̇̔͌̏̏͗͒̋͂̾̐̑͒́̊.̸̦͉̫̝͎̣̥͚͎̘̜̾̃.̵͇̱͎͍͒̀̽̏̀̈́͆́̂̐.̸̛̰̫̩̘̯̗͓̉́͗̎̍̂̎̄̐́́̈́̍̏̓̓͛̿ͅ.̸̩͎̜̙͔̙̣̣̱̭̺̘̘͆A̸̧̢͎̿̏̍̐̂̈̋̍̊̆͊̋̚͝͠ͅA̵̦̺͉̘̜̠̦̺̙̫̦͈̤͗̊̔͒̊̿͑̔̚͘͘͝͝Â̵̡̬͖̠̞̱̫͉͒͆̋͊̍̊̀̑̈̏͋͒͗́́̕A̸͕̮̳̘̖̼͚̜̗̱̿̏́͗̇̈́́̓͛̄̉̌̒̀À̶̡͙͈̻̩͈̿̈́̇̏͐̊̾̒́̋͊́͜͜͠͠A̶̧͈̫̱̞̝̲̖͙̜̲̽̈́̃͗̈́́̈́͠͠A̵͇̥̙̪͐̈́̀̒̓́͗͊̿͂̈́́͑̕͝͠A̵̧̖̬̺̳͍̖̤̻͕̓͆͂͋̀̃̐̊͑͂͑̿̅͐͛̕͝A̷̢̛̭̞̝̫͉̤̾̄͑̈́A̴̻̅͆̇͆̑̿̿͘̕͜͝͝Ä̶̜̣̯͖͎̠̫ͅȂ̵̡̡̼͕̲͓͎̹̩̟̻͎̻͕͕̰͙̹͙̌̊̐͒̎̇͗͘͝A̵̡̮̙̯̼͚̘̬̲͕͂́͊̀̎̿̋͑̈́̆̕͘͝͝A̷̢̛̗͈͔̒͂̽̂̇̀͛̐̀̀̚͝Ȧ̷̢̡̠͔̱̲̹̝̯̳͍̻͑̆̽̀̈́͐͆̈́̈̅̈́͝͠A̸̧̲͍̗̩̘̼̰̩͉̹̠̝̦͕̦̞̐͛̿.̷̨̦͔̦̝̝̝̤̬̎͂̇͝.̶̖̣̿́̄̇̆.̵͙̮̠̪̥̤̐̀̌̃̈̌̔̂̈͋̅͛̍̃̿̋͝ͅ.̵̨̨̜̖̟̤͙̗̙̠̮͓͖͚̦̯̹͂̑̃ͅ.̸̧̢̡̳̯̹̣̖̙͙͇͉̝̺̇́̂̌͐́̓̉͋͌͜͝ͅ.̶̢̡͉̭̘͖̼̬̣͐.̸̧̻̪͖̖͉̌̒̌̐̎.̶̣̮͕͎̬̂͜.̶̮̞̳̥̯̺̗̖̻͕̟̱̙̭̅̒̐̆̄̈̎͆̔͑̚͜.̵̟̹̖͕̻̣̬̫̘̟̟̻͔̙͉̮̂͋̆͊.̷̡̡̱̗̫̦͔̱̳̣͍̗̲̥̪̖͖͍̌̓͒̂̑̈́̀̌́̂̒͘͜.̷̡̨̧̛̥̠̹͔̩̔̋̈́̾͊̄͊̉̿̈́͗̈́͗͜͝ͅ.̶̡̗͖̘̻͚̣̘̣̗̭͚̲͔̖̑̍̍͋̍͐̽̀̈́́̐̃̒́͜.̸̡͉͚̰̯͉͚̞͕͖̹̲͛̒̋͛̑̈́̿̈́̍̚͜͜͠͠ͅ.̸͈̞̤͕̹̩̠͉̯̜̼̝̼͊̈́̀͊̆͊͆̊̿̓͐̈́̈́.̴̖̣̻͑̃̄̊̑͛̔̑̑͌̉̓̓̚͘͝ͅ.̸̢̼̃̊̊̀͊͐̀̍͠.̴̘̖͍͔͙̻̰͙͐͆͐̊́̀ͅ.̴̧̢̯̻̟̱̌̃̂̀̈́͐͂̽̏̔ͅ.̸̧̨̛̻͈̜͈̫̮̹̮͑̆̅̍̍̍͆̍͠.̴̡͕̫̯͕͔̰̙̤̪̾͗̏̇̈́̾͋͋̽̀͝.̶̡̛̺̙̥̼̹͚̼͉͉̩̪͔͚̲̙̘͇̓͑͑̅̀̉̓̂̀̉̀̎͊̀̚̕͠.̸̬͚̙̻̭̜̖̟͓̜̮̈̂͂̅̍̾͒̇̐̒͗̊͘͝͠͝.̶̢̢̳̫̭̲̯̺̺̟̺͚̞̹̬̪͖̖̿̊͂͛.̴̨̛̛̝̣̬͇͔̥͕̌̄͂̑̒͂̇̎̀̄̐́͗̎̋͜͝͠.̷͇͙̪̪̼̼͈͓̭̰̍͒̀̍̑̄̃̈̈́̈́̂̕͜.̸̢̛̥͉͔̝̳̜͕̼̖͓̼̪͉͋̈͛͊͌̊̓͗̆͐́̐͐̏͘͜͠.̴̢͚̹͖͇̘̼̯̜̯̤̳̘͓̋̀̿̎̉̚.̷̨̛͓̞̥̤̞̯͎͇̰̘̺̬͓̑̿̈́̅͑͐̉͜͝͝͝.̵̧̛͇̱̲̯̟̹̩͉̳̝̰̥́̀̍͂͗̊̇͜͝.̶̡̱̟̮̭̥̭̱͙̥͉̼̖͉̱͓͚͆̄̄̍́͛͋̐͑̉͂͌͆̑̈́̚͜͝.̶̛̜̱̱̀̀̋͐̋̾̊̎̿̃̋͂̓͊̔͝.̷̛̭͇̦͗̋̊̈́͊̅͂͌̂̈́̚͠͝.̷̡̬̜̺͕̟̳̬̗̀̂͋̔̇̋̈́͒̆̀̓.̵̨̨̛͈̭̰̦̻̦͙͒̎͋̈̆̅̇̃̊̇̒͗̀̐̕̕̕͜ͅ.̵̧͎̱̞̺̙̩̲͍͇̰͉̳͔͍́͌̅̎̈́̈́̿͊̔̑͋̋̊.̸͎̿̅̃͑͌̍͗́̑̈́.̵̪̼̦͚̟̣̝̯̓́͌͋̀̊͐͛̅̊̇̒̾̈́̈́͠͠͝.̷̢͉̤̘̟͖̮̯̹̻͉̠̼̦̾.̴̬̹̫̪̪͙̊̇̾̆̈́̄̾̑̀̿͊̓̃̓͋̏͘͝͝.̵̨̨̛̯̟̲̟̦̤͙̖͉̼̗̲̦͈̭̄̄͛̿͗̑̏̍͐͒̏̕͠͠.̶̼̼̋̄̉̾.̴̣̈́̾̉̆̆̓̇̌̀̾͆͋̚͝.̶̢̭̤͍͔̠̠̯͈͋̎̈͐̿̓̀͆͒̓͋͘͜͜͠͝͝.̶̛̥̮̲̤̥̰̬͓̫̼͎̺̝͉̣͗͛.̸͍̰͇̼̒̊́͒̏̈́͘͘͘͠.̵̟̺͎̇͊́̓̓͂͌.̴̠̫̏͋̽̓̓́̈́͝.̷̠̪̤̲̟̭̲̘̼̩͔̮͍͈̮̹̯̘͒̾͆̿͐͒̉̓̑͘͝͝ͅ.̸̨͚̻͖͍̩̝̱̜̤͉̖͎̬̭̮̞͔̻̈̈̃͌̎̏͗̊͑̑̚͝͠͠.̶̡̻̱̦̼͈̣̺̦̆̒̃̆̈̈́̂͒̎̒́͛̚͜A̴̡͍͖͊̎̽̏̚͠ͅÃ̴͉͕̗̕Ǎ̵̩̜̝̰͓̺̯̳̰̭̇̆̀̊̓̂̓̇͘͘A̴̡̨̨̛͕̥̙̟̗̗̰̱͇̝̝̦̱̞͋͋̌̇͛͋̾́͘͘ͅͅĂ̴̯͕͔̙̥̭̯̒͊̊̂̽͑͌̓͜͝͠ͅA̷̰̳͓̜̲̥̤͙̦̓̈́̒͑̅̆́̊̑́̊͐̈̒̌͋̆͘A̵̡̞̯̙̿͑Ă̸̛̗̻̹̠̣̞̦̭̳̩̭̭͇͋̌̉̆́̿̆͌̚ͅA̸̭̙̹͈̜̞̖̪̗͎̥̜̹̫̰̺̓̌͘͜A̶̲̥̮̯͙͎̫̣̝̾̀Ą̸̛̘͉̮͔̺̮̞͓̺̰̩̥̲̰͊̃̈͐̈́͋́̈̈́̅̉́̉̚͜͠͠͝ͅ.̸̞̲̫͐̉͛.̷̲͑͛́̽͊͠.̶̨͉̣͕̮̼̝͕̥̞̘̏̌͂̿̏͐͂̉̽̈́̓̄̃̓̍͗̽̕͝.̶͍͈̮̻̞̯͉͕̖̼͉̼̳̀̈́̊̌͌̒̓̄̋̌̑̓̚̚.̶̬̮̟̱̥̳̹̉͆̿̌͊̊̐̐͋.̶̨̞̖̝̰͔͍̤̭͉͕̻̣̬͓̓̐ͅͅ.̴̯̲̰̹̻̣̖̈́͆̀͆͠.̸̢̧̢̲̙̹̲̥̗̫̬̪̮͎̮̗̓̈́̈͜.̷̜̉̑̐̀͌̌̂̌.̷̯̟̲͖̲̥̳̽͊̕͘.̷̦̳̜̪̂̊͑̂̇̕.̴̨̤̬̫̗̃̿̾͒͗̄̇̾̿̃̎͒̽͗͋̀̓͘.̴̝̭̠̼̄͛̓̇̈́̑̒̽͒̿̑̊̏͘̕͝.̴̢̢̩̥͉̲̘̜͇͈͔̣̣̦̣̦̰͋͂͑͗̄̌̊̈̆͑͒̋͂̓̚͘.̶̠̖̖̫̝͎͙̠͈͍̙̟͈̩͔͚̤̏̀͜.̷̧̨̯͇͙̩͍̭͍̝̦̏͐̈́̊̅̇̍̏͂̃̊ͅ.̷̳̲̫̲̯̬̦̺͈͍̽͑͐̆͂͋͂̈́̏̈̂͌̚ͅ.̶̨̭͇̫͇̩̲͇̳̫̜̬̣͎̘̽͐̿̅́͊̅̊̀.̵̡̨̫͓̦̰̜̟̼̅̇͑͂̒̋̚ͅ.̷̨̦̖̞̭̟̥̫̩̖͙̰͓̜̮͍̦͈̈́̎̅͂̐̈́̀͌̿̑̀̉͝ͅ.̶̨̡͈̘̖̃͒͛̆̐̌͌̓͗̈́̓̈̈́̉̚̕͠͝.̸̥͇̫̜͍͚͉̠̳̣̲̇͜.̴̡̛͎͍̘̗̺̟͖͔̬̮̦̗̘͓͚̫̗͐̀̅̓́̈́̍̉̈́́͊͒̿̾͝͠.̶̢̧̨͍̹̭͉̤̞̱̰͕̗͍̮̾̐͗̈̈́̎́̑̒̊̐̌̐̿̅̽̕͘̕͜ͅ.̵̣̫̪̼̝͖̣̭̰͚͙̘̱̦̾̽̄̇̔̀̏̇́͜͠.̴̡͇̮̠̥̤͔̼͙̜͖͚͚͖̜̳̗͔͕̽̍̃̐͌̊͋͆.̸̨̛̣̲̙͔̲̤̼̜̼̪̲́̽̓̀̀͌̂̉͌͂̊͐̏͑͆͋͘.̴͙͕̰͓̮̀͐͂͑͌͐̄̌͋̂̿̚̚̚̚.̷̨̨̺̳̱͔͓̗͎̈́̈͑͆̃̾̂̐̈̓͝͝ͅ.̷̧͔̮͖̲̜̜̝̪͔̯͕̯̠͚͖̜̙̺̿͛́͐̈̋̋̾̏.̶̣͕͈̰́̉͗͆.̷̡̛͖̘͍̦͈͚̫̒̀͑̅̋̇̿̑̇͆̐͊̈́̕͝.̴̢̢̭͈̟̳̲̺̙͖̰͍̜̠̯̮̍̊́͗̒͌̍͜͜͠͠͠.̴̳̞̤̪̠̐̀̈̆͘.̷͎̱̙͔͖̲͋͆̿̋̀̋̕͠͝.̴̨̣̬̪̹̯̱̯̟̳̭̭̀̒͛ͅ.̸̠̘͔̀̑̈́̀̿͐͊͗̃̇̎͛̓̽̆̆͝.̵̮͋͆̑̿̽͊͒́̔̀̈́̐̀͌̈͑̕̚͝.̸̛̛͓̝͍̘̲͕̗͈͔͓̽͊͌̒͑̐̑͆̓̿̈́͒̉̍͜.̵̢̨̨͓̙͍̺̠̘̥̦̠̪͙̀́̐̎͘͘͝.̴̜̩̦̻͚͕̲̲͚̞̤̥̎̇́̽̿̇̚͝.̵̨̤̮̣̳̣͙͕͙̘̀̎͐ͅ.̷̨̡̛͔̳̻̰̫̜̙̱̺͖͚̫̰̻̝̋͊̒̎̽̽̇́͌̑̐̈̅̋̐̕̚͜͝.̵̡̡̧͚͖͙͎̟̣̳̖̤͎͑͑͂̿͝͠.̴͓̜̬̜͈̬̼̩̼̻̙̲̀͗̊̾̓̽̍͂͗͠͝.̵̧̢̛̛̭͖̹̺̑̒̔́̆͝͝.̴̡̫̞̬̗̔̇̽̏́̽̐̔́̓͜.̸̡̼͈̠̪̘͕̑̇̏.̸̨̮̜̖̈́̓͐̐̽̔̋̔̀͐̍͐̈́̇͘̚.̵̡̡̢͈̼͇̱̃́͌͂̐͊̾͆̍̇͂̽̾̈̂̄̅̕ͅ.̸̢̢̨̢̯͖̹̣̟̹̭͓͐̈́̀̎͒̿̈́͋̽̈́̉̕͠Ȁ̶̭̯͙̲̝̻͍̂͐͑̈́́͂̃̎̂̇̅ͅA̷̘͍̫̪̠̐̈́͛̍͐̍̒͐͝Ḁ̵̢̠̱͊͆̈́͌̃̽̊̐̽͌̈́̃̓̚͜͠͠A̶̢̭̹̮͕̙̫̞̓̍͗̓͊͋́͊̊͜A̷̡̛̪͔̮͇̫̟̬͉̞͔̞̞̅̃͛̈́̉̆̇̿̓̈́̎͘͠Ą̷̨̫̮̞̞̞̮̪̫̯͚́͜A̷̖̲̩͋̅͋̈̏̄̈́̂̎̍̉͛̿̍͑̕͠͝Ȃ̸̤̀̑̀̿̇̈́̈̄̈̊̕̚A̶̢̧̡̻̥̻̪͉͈̟͓̩̙̋͘Ã̷̧̦̱̤̙̦͛Ą̸͓̼͔̟̳͍͎͖́̑͋͌̽̌͊͛͝ͅA̵̛̮͓͈͈͊̌̔̈̒̄̍̈̏̀A̴̡̡̛̳͎̞̳̾̀͜A̴̧̧̛̺̟̻̪̹̭̝͎̳͕͎͕̟̒͛͋̏́̃̌̃̚͝͝͠ͅA̸̧̢̙̻̭̙̗͇͈̫̱̙͔͉̠̞̫̐́͌̓͂̇̇̌̄̇̀̀͝A̶̛͔̝͓̗̳̳̠̺̜͖̽͛̓Ä̵̢̢̤̻͉͉͉̣̠̙̻͎͇͓̰̭̪́̒̑̂͋͗̋͌A̵̠̥̜̼̠͑̎̽͌̏̋̀̇̔̈́̕͝͝Ą̵̥̪̈̇̈́͋̽̓͊̂̽̀̿̓͐̏̊̕À̸̡̮͖̳̲͔̜͐͊̂̈́̒͊ͅͅĄ̵̧̼̗̹̫͎͖͚̺̼͚̮͔̜͍̥͎̓̃̋̄̅̌̈́̏̿̓͘͠Ă̵̺̮̊̍̂͑̈̐̂̀͐͂̚̚.̷̡̢̥͉̲̩̝͉̘̾̔̉́̎̽̅̀̒͘ͅ.̵̧̢̪̖̮̜̱͖͍̻̮͈͓̰̞̘̈̒̎̌̏͊̾̊̑͊̉̿̒̕̕͘͜.̵͔͕͙̦̦̺̺̺̳̼͕̫͙͒̊͆̽̈́̿͛̔̏̐̎͑̈́̊͠ͅͅ.̸̧̛͉̭̦̈́̾͑̈̓̎̒͌̇̈́͘͘͠.̷̧̧̛̙̳̭͔̣̳̰͈̳̜̝͇͐͌̽͐͌͊͌͂̓͠ͅ.̵̣̥͎̫̤̱̻̺̳̞͇͈̗͆̈͗̂́̒͛́̑͒̿̓̾̀͊͌̈́̚.̶̨̛͈̟͖̜̘͚̃͆͊̏͆̑͆̉̾̊͗̚͜.̸̧̨̺̭̳̘̞͖͈͕͉̫̘̫̳̍͋̓̚͜͝.̸̥̖̇̅̔̂̈́̃̿͝.̸̡̢̨̛̬̫͎̹̪̫͈͍̦̦̪̫͈̝̊̎̅͂̐͌̎̇̍̚͜͠.̶̨̡̧͓͙̻͈̼̝̠̖́̂̋̏̎̃̽̒̀̊͌͘͜ͅ.̶̜̭̥͍̣͕͈̙̠̼̊̈̾̐̈́̈́̎́̐̀̽̍͊̋.̶̡̦̺̞̱̲̫̞͈̜̹̱͚͉̖̙͐̋͑̀̑̄̈́͐̓̿̓͌̈́̅̒͠.̷̫̫̲̣͔̳̩̖̩̲̟̝͉̣̖͙̼̱̹̍̿͐̉̌͌͆̊̂͋͂̕͝͝.̵̧̡̙͍͕͙̙̬̗̘̫̖͔͑͂̏̆͑̾̈́̓̿̂͜͜͝.̴̡̻̟̻͉̦̥̞̘̜̂͛̅̀̅͂̊̈̍̉̎̃́͘͜.̵̛̛̲̿͂͂̈́̓̔͋͘̕̕͠͠.̵̢̙̹̫̗̰͚͕̯͇̙͇̘͖̪̗̓̓̍.̷̝̪͋̈̉͛.̵̛̟̬̝̠̫͓̻̙̳̗̺͍͔͑̓͊́̅̽̄̉̉̐̆̈́̂̄͘̕͜͝͝ͅ.̸̧̩͍͓͕̗͖̭̝̲͉̇͑̒ͅ.̷̡̨̭͖̥̯͈̻̺͈͇̝͙͉̝͕͊̅̌̎́͘͜͝ͅ.̴̜̺̒̈̀͒̃̀͂̀̅͆̃̂̈́̀̉̀̚͝͠.̷̣̠̫̝͓̘͉̬͙͉̲̍̒́̽͂͜.̴̛̯̱̼̲̃͗̊͑̿̄́.̵̤̳̗̦͍̽͆͗͂͠.̸̦̠̜̻͕̲̲̆͗̒͗͌.̵̬̝̠̮̰͓͇͓̝͉̥̎̍̀̚.̸̢͓̯͔̫͔̪͙͛͝.̴̢̢̨̜̼̬̣̘̭̮̗̮͖͔̩̺̯͎̈̓͂͂̓̀́̈́̎͆̆͘ͅ.̵͙͍̻̝̱̩̱̮͔̝̺̯͛̇.̸̢̤̙͎͕̭̜͇͇̤̹͙̤̔͂͜ͅ.̶̥̖̻̲̩̤̠̹͖̲͉̥̾͊̓̊͛̒̒̀̄̚͘͘.̷̟̞̞̤̲̪͋.̷̛̤̗͒̓͑̂̓̀̌̉̿̓̓̆̇̍̓̍̕̕.̴̢̨̧̝̱̯̖̙͕͎͚͔̪͕̭͍͊͛̊̄̂̅̃̅̐̚͝͝ͅ.̸̖̼̬͕͔̠̈́̎̃̎́̔̈́͂̉́͗̚͝.̴̢̻͚͚̝̰̻͓̯̅̌̈́̑̃̅̏̓̓̎͐̈́̈́̒́̆͘͠.̶̢͕̬͇͎̥͉͙̻̬̥̺̆̈́̉̐̀̀̉̈́.̵͎̳͓̩̻̤̝̺̗̻̮͓̦̲͆̒̅̆̈͛̄̈́̇̿̓͗͐̒͜͠͠.̶̧̢̢̖̘̼̲̖͓̬̮̤̳̻͉͇͛͑̂̎̋͒̀̆̌͋̑͛̔̌̇̿͘̚͘.̶̛̱̮̦͉͇͎͉̮̘͙̠̝͂͒͒̃͆̏́̍ͅ.̵̠͇̦̖̹̙̆́͆́͜ͅ.̸̻͈̲̪̩̠̟͈͖̱̻̗̘͕̪̻͚̣̏̈̾̈́̓̓͒̉̊̉̄̇̏̀̚͜͝.̴̧̨͖͚̝̠̣̈́͛͗͐̓͊̽͌͛̾̓̋̓̐̃̉̏.̸̠̱̮̲̰͉͙͔̩̤͔͉͇̞̗̙̓̿̈̀̋̊̚͝.̶̰͈̠͖̠͙̾̋͌̍͐̀̈́̎́̕͠͝͠.̸̹̘̗̻̪̅̓͆̍̾̇̃̕͝͝ͅ.̷̪͓̘̻̦̘̮͓̺͇̺͌̿̓͆̐̎͒̇̆̊̉̌͠.̶̛̠͈͚͉͓̲͇̬͕̦̹͛̐̿̓͛̓̎̕͜͝͝.̷̡̦̣̜̫̺͓̣͎̬͕̱͕̪͔̲̮͈̆̇͒.̸̡̢̢̛̛͈͎͈̙̮̲̰̫̥̯̣͔̻͙̮̃̒͋̌̄́̊̂.̸̛̮̓̽̈̈̊̾̉̇͋̀͑͌͊̄̍͘͝.̷͓̜̠̘͖̤͑̆͌̈́̇̽.̶̢͍̙̺̼̫̰̲̣͆̆̓̂̿̃̉.̴̛̝͚͉̤͔̳͖͈̓̎̑̔͂̊̔̏̏̔̕͝͝.̷̡͈̻͖̲̳̖̼͓̝̦̯̙͌͊̎̀͐̅̇̈́͛͂̅̇͌̇͌͊͘͘ͅ.̸̧̺͙̞͕̪̻̣̖̯̱̦̟̮̫̱̠̉͐͛́̒̄͆ͅͅĄ̷̥̪̤̲̪̙̞̻̭͇̳̈͊̓͋͂͋̈́̆̿̊̾͆̾͂̚͜͜Ả̴͚̺̤͚̹̦̤̬̲̽̿̔́̑̌͘̕̚A̴̢̯̰̱̱̫̫̜̳͗̍͑͑̆̏̈́̈́̎̒̄̒̅̑́͝Ȁ̴̞̩͍̩͓͕͑̌͒̂̒͗̀̾̂̑̇͋̌͗̅̈́͜ͅA̴̞̜͙̲̤̽͂̽̋̓̈́̈̃́͠Ą̵̢̙͇̺̰̭̲̪̣̖̲̹̠̻̃̊̓̋̈́̿̎͐͋̌̈́̀̒͆̇̏̄͜͝ͅͅÄ̴̢͇̗̫͉̘͔̐͘͠ͅĄ̴̦̱͓͈͔̱̱͕̘̣̲̪̄̋̃͋͒̋̊̔͑̽̽̏͝A̵̫̹̬͊̾͛͌́̽̀̃̂̓Ȁ̷̳̻̪̼͈͉͎̹͕̭̙͆̐͛̆̈́͆̔͋̾̊̂͋͊Ą̴͒͗͆̋̍̾̓͂̈͐̉͒̚͘͠͠A̶̧̧̮̮̭̜̪̠͉͍̹̪͓̦̓̈́́̈́̒̿̆̓̂̒́̂̇̕̕͘͝ͅA̴̡̨̙̞̖̲̪̝̰̻̻͍̗̺̺͙̹̟͐̃́̇͛̓̃ͅ.̶̳̪͒̾͛̋͆͗́̐̏͛̋͌̚̕͝.̸̢͉̫͎͗̄̿̂̂̾̈̾̿́̎̇͗͗̾̚̚͝d̸̨̧̳̱͖̞̮͕̟̻̙̪͚͇̰̠͚̹̈́̊̐̋̋͐̚o̸̧̫͇͚̰̞͕̲̬̖͊̓̋͒͒̓̎̿̑̉͑͒̚͘̚͝n̴̢̧̥͈̹͎̫̝̮̜̤͑͗́͆̉͊͋̄̒̃̎̆̕͠͝t̶͉̮̟̱̜̬̻͔̠͕͖͉̞̥͎͕͂͊̾̈ͅ ̵̢̨̛͎̮͓͇̼̟͕̈͆́͊̊̈́̏͐̀̀̌͐̽̍͛̀̕͜w̵̡̜̳͓̖̗̲̞̠̜̗͍̫͉̻̦͇̐̅̾̄͐̃̒̄́̒̀̈́̀ͅą̵̝̜͈͕̭̘̪͒̔ǹ̷̠̳̬͇̯̮̯̟͖̦͙̞ṯ̴̺̦͙͕̤͗̓̚ ̴̨̗̜͕̜͓͇̥͓̮̲̱̱̙̰̬̩̰͌͊́̈̾̍̔̚͝t̵͍̺̳̩͙͌̍̅̇́̆́̕͝͝o̸̡̢͈̭͖̤͙̞͕͖̽͝ ̷̢̡̱͙̼̠̘͖̣̺̲̣̫͍̙̱̈d̶̨̬̟̞͉̱̩͓̤̬͓̰̏̾̔̃͂̾̓͒͆̆̒̾̚͜ị̴̧̨͈̺͍̰̯͎̙̜̥̩̦̗̺͑̋́̈́̌͐̚͝ȩ̷̥͇̖̦͒́͋̽̋͐̃͛̂̑̊̀͜͠.̵̬̗̜̹͊̍͛̌.̴̖͍̈́̓͒͘͝.̶̪̳͓̪̋̃͂̚.̸̢̬͔͚͇̫̞̥̝̤͈̙̱͖͓̦̍̇͊̒̽͂́̋͑̆̄̏̔͂̾͌͐͜͝͝.̵̧̡̝̠̝̤̩̳͉̱͈̗̯̭͕͐.̵̜͇͍̘̏͛̾́̐̎̎͘͘͠͝.̸̢̖͕͓̪̭̳̱̍͛͛͗̌̀͛̾͐̅̋͂́́͘͝.̸̢͕͔̩͍̲͇̗̯̥̮͈̖̟͕̮̩̬̈̄̋̎̒̎̍͋̔̀͋̄͒̐͆̑̃̒͝.̶̨̫̞̖͇̜̺͓͓̦̮͖͐̇̀̐̈́̕ͅ.̷̧̘̹͙̤̝̾̃̂̃͋̓̎̾͗͆͗͊͛͊͗̕̕͠.̵͇̙͉̞̒̇́̈́.̶̦̓̐̎̃́̚̚̕.̷̛̠͊́̒͑̌̈́̈́͂̈̿́̓̓̀̊̓͘.̴̝̺̝͍͐̒.̸̨͉̦̠͍̥̞̹͇̼͇͈̰̗̠̒̏͒̿̏̅̋̌̿̒̒̏͆̃͜͝.̴̨̛͕̤̙͓̭̺̿̀͗͌̐̆͝.̵̨̡̛͙̭̜̖̙̙͈̹̻̰̰̞͔͖̻̪̽̿̄͆̂̋̒̾̑͘͘͠͝͠.̷͔̗̎̐̔͌̏͋̏̓̐͛̈́̐̚̕.̵̱̝͙̥̲̤͖̦̥̰̫̱̻͇̝͂͛̒̐͗͒̊̂͂̈́̆̒̕͘.̶̘͍͙͖͙̟̲̋̾̈́͂́̓̀̋̓̔͠.̶̡̛̻̮̼̲̱͎̗̟͕̦̋̈̓̀̀̊̈́́͂̐͐̃͋͑̚̚.̶̢͙̭̺̌͛̒́̅̑̏̀̽̏̿̎̊̄̋͛ͅ.̴̬͉͎̯̫̲̼̜͛̿̽̄͛̈́̓͑̐͠ͅͅ.̸͇̪̮̑̂͌̿.̸̯̮͉͉̘͚͉̫̩͍̖̻͕̫͓̮̈́͆̈́̀̽̈̃͝ͅ.̴̺̈̀̆͗̃̈̂́͗̓̀̂̍̕.̸̡̢̛͈̘̣͉̭̰̤̼̣͇̦͙̤̻̣̐͊̒͐̇̒̿͋̊̋̇̽͌̕̚͠.̷̛̹̗̜͑̽̓̀́͐̊̈́̄͋̍͒̈̔́̽͘͠ͅ.̷̢͍͈̺̯̜̭̳̘̤̹̯̩̬̰͈̫̫͓̋͊̏̊̕.̶̢̗͍̰̘̲̫̣̺̐̓͐̿.̸̢̡̧̛̠̮͖̙̜͕̫͖͚̺̣̩͇́̔͆͒̎̌̂̏̿̋̿.̴̦̫̥̱͕̱̠͚̰̗̘̯̼̭̿͐͘͝͝.̴̧̯̪̺̜̫̙͈͈̞̘̻̏̾̉̑̆̍̈́̈́͐̈́̾͆́̔̍͌͝.̶̧̢̻̼̗͙̹͕̜̗̇̈́͘ͅ.̷̘̰̳̜̣̩̰̰͔̭̠͒͛̀́̍̀̌̑̀͂̀̌͝͝͝.̶̱̃̈́͛͘.̷̨̭͍̱͕͕̬̪̖̗̜̯͈̋͊̈́͋̑̕͝.̵̯̠͍̥̰͎͎͚̲̓̍͘.̵̥̣̹̳͈͖̤͕̟͌̀͝.̶̛̛̻̺͓̼̯́́͒͛̑̀̇̾̈́́̏̕͘͝͝.̸̡͕͉͕̣̠͈̙̗̹͖̱̬͙̙̪̣̿̂̉̇͜͜.̷̨̡̠̠͚̳͕̣͇̹̯̖͖̙͎͔̄̓̚.̷̧̢̩̺͇̺̱̺͐̎̿̀̓̔.̵̧̨͍̤͉̞̜̝͔̪̟̬͓̲̖͖̼̩̚͝ͅ.̸̻̠̞̊.̴̡̮̻̻̟͉̳̗̦͕̯͂̀̔͂̊̿̊͛̾̽̾̃̔͋̅̕͝.̴̨̨͎̫̟͉̭̓̓ͅ.̷̖̘̈́̃̆͋͗̕͜ͅ.̶̡̢̛̰͓͇̭̙̹̣̻̆̐͑̍̈̇̓̕.̴͙̞͚̝͚̞͍͎̈́͊̊͗̀̉̏̍.̴̧̢̛̪̮̗̥̹̰͈͖͍̹̒̔.̸̯̓̊̽̉̾͐͐́̕̚.̷̢̹̹͉͇̝̫͍̞̹̹͎̱͕̈́̊̒̔͜͝ͅ.̴͈̳̲͕̭͙̬̥̘̫͓̞͓̜̠̜̮̽̓͒̈́̐̈́̃̌̒́̐͝.̵̛̛̘̞̻̗̯͎̜̘̝͙̌͋̐͂͊̓͂͛̀̌͆̅͘̕͜͠.̴͙͙͓̾̀̔̂̐͋̒͊̀͗͆̌̚͝.̷̧̧̲̜͎̰̺̮̻̪̦̋́͛̆̉́̒͗̑̈̋̒͑̋̀̿̓.̷̨̼̜̤͔̭̹̱̯̳̿̎̍̄͊̇͂́͠.̵̡̙̂̈́̈́͑̽̈́͂̈̄̃͌̃͋̈́̃͝.̵̟̤̠̔̔͗̀̐͛̇̓͐͛͑̉͛̀͝͝.̷̨͕̲̣͔͉̘̠͓͕̙̰̓́͑͛̚͠.̸̢̡̡̨̗̙̟͔͎̼͖͔̣̳̝͔̪͗̓̌̀̾̆̅̓̒̏͜͠.̷̡͕̬̼̲̰̳̗͐̾͑̅̓͝.̴̛͎̀̃̽̊͛̔̒͠.̴̥͋̃̄̋̐̀͌͂̐̀͛͆́͑̾̚͝͠.̶̨̢̛̜̣̞̭̹̐̋̂̆̆́͝͠.̴̮̘̪̙̦̪̮̪̤̹̃͒̃̀̉̓̏̆͗̑̚̚͘͝͝.̸̛̞̭̬͍̘͉̩̤͚̳̗͓̞̺̩͚͂̃̏͗̋̆̈̑͗͜͝.̷̤̮̈́͋͒͆͋̌͊̃̄̄̎̚͝͝ͅ.̸̢͖̭̲̼̺̭̥̙̗̭̐.̴̯̠͖̄͋͂̕.̵̻͈̮͓͔͉̓̾̎̏̅̆̐̑͆̒̊̏̉̒̕̕̚.̸̡̢͖͕͓͕̭̺̝͖͕̻̘͍͓̣̀̎̉̅̔̆͜ͅ.̷̧̼͉̭̳̝̪̄̈́͜.̵̛̟̜̏̅̎̐͛̑͊̓́̚̕͠.̷̨̨̛͈̻̺̳̺̰͎̩̹̠̿̍̎͒͗͗̐̄̈́͊̿͒̐̏͘ͅ.̴̛͉̗͙̲͇̟̟͚̺̩̙̭̻̺͚͙͕̒͛̍̅̑̆̕̕ͅ.̶̛̥̭̊͐͗̍͑͌̌.̷̧̼̖͈̲̜̟͈̣͊̉̆̑̀̊̿͒̀̀̈́̓̋̋͋͘͝.̸̛̩̜̜͔̱͔̯̪̝.̸͔͇͓̱͔̓̋͐̍͐̽̓̄̏̐͗̀̕͝.̴̹̖̈́̒̈́̐.̸̠͙̦̅͌̎̽̈́̈́͌̆̑̾̓͝.̷̯͔͙̻̥̬̽̔̆̐̊͋̀̐̂̿͛̀̍͝.̷̡̭͓̹̪͌̈́̓͆̽̍͛͌̓̊̾͐͠.̵̡͚̜͕̼̘̗̠̜͖͉͉̫̙͕̇̾͑͐̈͑͜͜.̸̣̼̰̝̬̘͍͕̈́͌.̸̩̟̩́͊͌̾͊̿̿̀̏͘͝.̶̧̧̮̺̰̻̠̬̫̭̜͙̻̘̭̘̻̤̏̉͛̇̀̂̂̈̐̊͒̕̕͝͝ͅ.̴̢̢̛̪̅̎̃͆̃͑̐͋͐̓̊̓̆.̶̛͙̰̰̔̍ͅ.̴̞̗͚̗̬̹͚͇̠͈͉͕̝͑̉̀͑̃̆ͅ.̸̢̯̝̞͕͉̯̦͚̭͚̩͎̈́͐̿̈́͑̏̒̂̐͂͊̎̕͝.̷̧̨͍̱̦̯̱̙͓̪̻͛̆̾̍̿͒͘͜͜.̸̢̦̲͉̻͉͓̂́̾̀̓́́̀͗̓͒ͅ.̴̡̡̡̤͎̙̫͕̦̜̼̟̩̘͚̭͋.̶͍̣̺̿͋͒̾͋͋͌̆̀͆̾̍͒͝͠.̸̡̛͈̭̯̺͚͙̯̙̝̭̘͕͈̺͉̟̂̾̀̎͌̈́̒̀̾̚͠͠͝.̵̢̢̨̪̜̙͈̲͙͎̻͚̖̣̆̍̏̋̈́̓͘͘͝.̶̡̳̲̻͑͊̓̈́͒͊̕.̵̛͔̟͙͑́̉̏̒̈́͝.̵̼͉͔̈́̈́͋̂̔̈́.̷͈̰̻̥̑̀͆̈́̑̓̈́̔̿̃̒̈̀̚͘̚͝.̷̹̗̘͍̫̗̝̟̝̥̬̼̥͉̜̏̈̀́̌̽̋̓͗̏̈́̒̑͆̓͊͝.̸̨̧̛̪͎̥̪̮̍͌̋̈́́̊̒̈́̊̽͆̊͘͝ͅ.̸̡̢̧̨̟̙̜͇̺̺̩̬̻̼͇̰͇̑̽̐̈́̈́̂̇̌̄̆͊̎̕̕.̸̨̥̗̳͚͈̪͖̼̰̜̖͔͓̻̤͚͈́͑̌̿̋̑̿̕͘͝.̵̻̺͔̱͍͖̗̤͓̟͍̮̬̬̙̀̑̀̄ͅ.̷̩̆͗͆̅͐.̵̢̯̭̯̤̲̟͍̪̦͔̋̏͋́͐̎͊͝.̵̧̯̲̰̌̀̌̉͆̚͘.̶̢̖̟̞̪͔̼̫̺͓̜̦̞͕̳̜͝ͅ.̷̙͇͉͇͚̦̣͓̹̂̆̅̉͆́́̎̏̎̓.̵̜̞̟̘̣̟̩̥̻̈́̄̅̾̌̈́̓̋̕͝.̸̙̙͕͈͖̠̃̈́͂̀̈͒̍̒̎̈͛̓̀̆̓͠͠i̷̧̡͉̱̮̣͈̎m̸̢̨̢̛͓̲͓̠̜̗͙̠̪̘̥̺̼̺͉̓̇̐̓͒̈́̎͜͝ ̷̞̞̖̦̆͋̿̐̂̿̈͋̎͋͂̚͘s̶͚̹͗o̸̡͈͉̙̪̥̘͚̹̳̖̫̰̽̓͊̆͊̍͋̈́̿̕̚ŗ̶̲̳̠͚͓͔̭̪̏̈̾̍̔̆̚r̵̡̻̠̘̣̝̗͖̫̻̝̳̺͎̈́̓̔͊̏̂̿̕͝͠ͅͅỷ̴̧̛̤̱͚͓͕͓͖̝̤̖͍͗.̴̞̿͋͛̓.̵͇̮̺͋̉̅͛.̵̡̛̻̳̹̘͈͒̾̾̿͒̚.̷̨̘͕̭̭̫͇̜̺̫͈̬̎͐̐͋̋͂̄̽̍̉̐͜.̵̢̨̡̢̛͎͇̲͖͉̭̱̺̝̘̣͖͈͂̑̆͌͗̏͊͐̆͜.̴̛̟̗̜̑͋̌̈́͋̀̿̅͗̓.̴͕̞͓͖̟͔̜̩͖͌͝.̶̣͇͌̈̽͘͝.̸̧̢̛͍͔̻̮̣̙̙̣̜̥̭̮̠̟͆͊͆̓̀͐̈̔͐̆̎̈́͘͜͝͝ͅ.̴͎̥͙̞̞̙̫̺̟̗̥̺̤̇̌͜.̴͇͉̝͇̮͖̞͍̝̣̹͇̤͙͚͍̀͜.̶̨̨͎̙̼͇̇̈́̓̐͒̃̀̋̈̈́̈̓̕̕͝.̸̣̤̺̦̣̣̻̰̹̍̄̂̕̚͜͜ͅ.̵̝̝̖̋̎̄͑̃̏̈́̀͘.̷̮̠̬̖̠̼̮̰̿́͑̎̋̎̇͆͜.̸̬̝̠͎̻̅͑̐̉̈͛̔̈̄̓͌̚.̵̫̏̀.̸̧̝̻̙̪͊̊͋̓̄.̵͍͎̭̪̆̐̋̽̓̆͘.̴̫͍̟̟̹͚̹̦̙͍̱͔͇̈́̒͛̐̐̃̆̽́̏́̌̅̾͆͛̊͑.̵̨̛͕͖͎͙̺̒̇͑̀̅̀́͘͘͝.̶̬̔͐͒͌͆.̷̧̧̨̛͕͔͍͖̜̻̩̳̣̲̙̀̉̎͐̈́̋̅͐̀̅͊̏͘͠.̷̢̢̜̫̦͕̲̤̜̗̪̜͚͓̄̌͘͜ͅ.̷̛̠̯̩͉̺̱͎̖̮͚͔̳̓̔͛͒͛́̿̓͜͜ͅͅ.̶̡̢̛̦̱̞̜̹͙̻̝̞̠̺͕͂̓̔̀̈̆̔̀͘͘̕͜.̷̳́̐̒̃͒̈́̈́̑̈́̈́̚͝.̴̝̠̙̠̺͈̥̝̯̻̜̣͈̤̞̳̺͎͙̾̾͋̈́̊̚.̵̙̝̭̜̠̳̰̮̋͆̓͒͒͊̐̈́̂̍͋͋̏̈́̕͠ͅ.̷̬͕̞̩͍͎̙̒͂̀̎̓̕͘͜͝.̸̧̪͈̘͉̳̭̉̋͛̈́͋͐̈̈́͝.̵̡̣̮͈̼̞͖̰̃͂̾͆͛̈́.̶̧̢̛̤̜͉͕̼̖̈́̿̆̂̎̋̈́͌̇̀̔̀́̏̂́ͅ.̶̗͍̎͜.̸̡̨̼͈͖̰̬̳̞͎̐͌͛̈̑͆̾̃̀̽͜͝.̴̄͂̀̑ͅ.̷̫̈́͛͗͋͆̄̓̃̆̍̓̾́̽̑̑͘.̵̯̱͙̬̣̣̌̏̕.̸̢̯͒̾͗͗̏͋̑̊́̀̇͋̈́͐̿͠ͅͅ.̴̨̱̙̝̦͉̮͉͗͊̌̓̾̈́͊͗̂̐̆͂̎͗͐̕̕͝.̴̗̟͇̯̪̙͍̙͈̩̫̌̌̆̓̚̚ͅ.̷̢̛̼̫̞̹͉̠̙̪̮̖̒͌̍̀̈́̍͑̅̈́̈́̌̔̌̌͘͘͘͝.̵̟̎͆̀̌̽͒̎̕.̵̧̛̞̬̙̼̼͓̜̟̬̑́̂̅̈́̋͒̓̇́̈́͑̀ͅ.̸̮̐.̷̡͚͔̗͙̈́̀̍̾́̍̏͜ͅ.̸̨̪̣̲̬͍̩͚̿͑̏̃́̉̂̏͋̈̌́̓͒̿̇̚̚͝.̶̡̧̙̪̭̙̻̖̰̼̘̗̤͓̆̌̈́̉.̵̞̟̪̒̈͆͐̽͆̈́̑̋̌̃̄̑̅̒͆͝.̸̨̰͚̜̼̩͍͎̼̘̺̀̉͛̀͐̐͛̏͂̎̾̔̂̐̔͘͝ͅ.̶̱̝̗̖̥̳̯̼̹̠͍͙̙̭͙͈̈́̐̓͘͜.̵̢̯͚̹̳͉̤̣͉̈̓̃͐̽̒̾̓̒̏̚ͅ.̶͍͙͖̋̆̆͂̒͑̅́͒͂̒̀̇̇̎͝.̴̞̬̫̱̙̹̹̲̗̣̱͙̼̘̯́̈́̾͂͘͜͜.̴̧̭̖͛͌̅̂͊͛̍̌̊̚ͅ.̷̡͚̗̠͖̘̲̋̉͑̆͛̋͑̑̓̎̆̂̌͐͌̾̄̊.̵̡̢̤̙̭̭̩͇͇̖̺͙͉̩͕͕̖̀̑̽̿̄̂̏̈̓͆͛́͐̌̀͜͜͝.̵̧̖̱̥̲̪̘̺͉̯͙͍͚͈͇̫̖͊͑͋͊͐̈́̋͆͗͝͠.̶̛͈̱͈̟͉̤̠͈͑̑̓́̃͌̈̇͛̕̕͘͝.̸̢̡̛̗̮̗̙̙̭̬̦̤̣̠̼͔̗͚͇̪͛̓̃̀͑̇͑̈́̈́̒̓̍͛̿̚̚̚͝s̵̛̪͍̩̦̻̀̐͛̀͌̅̚ơ̴̧̢͚̤̪̻͇̮̮̰̜̪̗͉̤̣̖̐̽͊̂̍͌́̒̋͜͝m̸̡̮̱̠̥͕̦̫͔̱̫̹̄͐͜͝ͅẹ̴̢̝̠͇̳̲̭̾͊ő̴̰̣̼̼̹͈̰̜͒͐̌̀́n̶̝̎̍͐̆͂̃̅̀̋̔̈́̽͒̑̋̇͠ͅḙ̵̛̼͉͎̲̃͆̋͆͆̔̓̌͋͌͝͝ ̴̱̰̳͐͛͋̊̑͋̏͑͆̋͌̚͝͠p̴̨̦̯͎̣̜͉̱̫̝̹̣̤͔͑̋́̿̋̈́̉͊̽̆̇ͅl̴̻̬̥̜̼̟̟͈̬̪̳̬̺̮̓͗̚̚͜͜ͅe̴̢̟͈̖̪̗̯͚̮͚͕̲͙͚͚̫̟͒͜͜͝a̴͍͚̼̲͑̆̀̇̌̊̎̍̌͒̅͌̀͊̆̈̉̚͝ş̷̝̩̙̭̣̘̌́̌͐̑͜é̴̢̙̮̹̻̹͕̖̩̟̋̓̔̄̉̐̑͋̕͜͜ͅ.̸̦̜͍͈̲̭̫͑͝.̵͎̦͎͎̪̗̩̠̤̜̓̿̾̋̿͗́͂̀͌̓̉̈͋̕͝ͅ.̷̢̨̱̝̯̦̹̹̠͎̻̓̈́͂̈̉̃͌͆̐̋̋̆̋̚͝͠͠͠.̸̡̧̖̯̻̠̤̜͎͎͈̞͔̬͇̱̯̭̩̈́̄̑̈́͊̌̉͝.̶̨̠̩̩̤̖̰̼̺̟̺̥̥̳̖͇̦͍̊͐̌͜.̵̙̝̩̻͍͈̉̄̔̏͒̇̆̄͜.̶̞͈̩̟͂̉̃̽̃͋́͆͂̈͆̎͂̈́̉̌͆͜͝.̴͙̗̰̱̋͆͑̈̈́̋͆̒̉̑̈́̕̚.̷̫̊̈́̑͒̍̈́̀̊̓͛̒̾.̸̡̝͈̱̟̘͖̣̩͓̟̤͙͖͙̦͆̍́́͐͛͗́̄̏͋̎̄͗̓͘.̸̠͈͉̖̱̖̘̮̝͆́͛́͐̀̃͌́̌̐̈̕͜͝ͅ.̷̫̣̬̍̀̍͛̉̔̇̇.̶̡̳̘̳͔̘̳̬̠͖̼̼̀͂̈́̃͌́͆̅̏̒̈̓̊̑̈́̕̕͝͝.̷͖͗̆͂̍͜.̷̳̣͒́̈́́̾͛̊̀͘.̴̨̙̱̣̤̯̩̰͇̰̆̈́̈.̵̨̞̳͉̫͉͎̥̏͛̏͋̉̽̂̒̓̐̍̎̃̂͜͜͠͝͝.̸̢̗̝̳̘̣͔̲̪̰͙̝̓̓̾̑͆̐͛͑̀͋͗̌͆͑́̕̕͜.̴̮̬̣̹̩̳͕̟̫̞̝͇̘͔̉͑́̄̿͗̓̿͠.̸̨̛̖̞͔̝̫̮̲̭̰̻͐̓͂̍ͅ.̷̛̳̱̻̹̥̦̱͈͕̰͈̱͕̞͇̈́̐͗̆̀̕͠͝.̴̧̧̲̗͓̟̻̻̦͔̝̦̓̑̓̏͜.̶̛̗͕͇͚͈̖̱̳̘̹̎̏͛̈́̅̾́.̶̧̛͙̦̥̱͈͂͋̃͑̾̏͆̃̈́̎̾̍̿̅ͅ.̶̡̡̛͇̘̭͍̻̟͈̣͇̮͚̹̠̭̺̮̻̑̈̔̉͛̉̓́̋́̂͊̕̕͝.̴̢̛̱̙̪̣̬͌̏.̸̨̳͈̜͖̝̦̤̑͆͒͌̇̆̒͂͗̎͝.̷̢̨̢͔̣̲̬̦̪́̄̀̆́͐̈̽͠ͅ.̷̡̛̦̣͎͉͔̘̝̘͍̪̺͂̈́̀̂̈́̀̿̔̒̈́̓͗̑̓̋̒͠͝.̶̡̧͖̝͖͔͇͈͎̪̯̄̕͜͝.̵̢̪̪̥͇̙͔͓̖̩̯̝̗͓̈̄̈̉͑̊̒͆̍̅̓͜.̵̙̝̃̔̆͐̕͝.̸̢̡̣̪̦̟͓̗͓͚̬͎̭͉̇̈́͐̀͛̓̅̓͌̅̐̎̏̊́̃̊͝.̶̞̯̼̲̟̯̘̟̜̺̥͓̳̮̲̹̃̀͊̑̃̇͑̔͛̕͘͝͝.̸̢̡̨̡̱͓͙͍̬̭͚̞̟̳͕̙̽̍̏̏́̊̔͛̔̐͌̆͘͘͝͝͠ͅͅͅ.̵̩̦̃́̌͊͠͠.̶̛͇̫̟̜̣͓̜͍̝̍̊̔̍̓̉́̽͒̈́͜͝͝.̵̙͆͛̃̄̄.̷̳̠̺͎͉͇̺̫͈͔̰̀̆̏̑̊̐͒͘.̴̧̨̟̲̭̣͍̬͇͉͓̳̰͙͈̼̱̃͗͘̚A̴͍̬̞̝͉̱̼̠̯̤̜̖̬̩͋̽́̒͛̐̀̚A̵̧̻̺͙̞̝̭͖̰͕̮͎̎̈͛͋̉̓̚̚̕͝A̵͎̦̼͓̹̞̪̼̻̪̳͑̈̈́̑̎̓̂̂̃̎͗̐̓̈́̉̔̋͘͠ͅA̸̡̢̛͙̻͓̹͖͚̫̜͚͓̥̬̯̦͐̊̆̓̑̑̍̔͊̓̈͑̍̒̀̅A̶̝͉̼̤͚͖͙͎͇͗͘A̵̯̯̜̗̘͈̞͎͙̓̒̽̏̅̚ͅÂ̷̩͍̦̬͚̘̦̭̈́͘A̸̼̱̤͗͑͛̑̀͋̌̒͛̔̕̚͠͝A̸̳̞͍̩̥̐̊̃̌̈́̔̾͒̀̋͝A̶̢̬͎͔̞͈̻͍͓͇̰͋̏̿̐͒̒̐̍̽̎͛͐̋̈́͠͠ͅĄ̸̩̘͍͍̯̭̮̟̠̳̟̞̞̯̲̹̤̉̈̈́͑̎͗̄̃͂͑̌̍̚̚A̸͚̙̯̔́̃̿̆̋̐̕͘ͅA̷̧̳̭̘̲̹͓͚͕̯̺͕͎̝̟̽̇̅͗̂̃́̈́͜Ắ̶̛̯̖͇̪͐̑͠A̷͙̤͊̓͐̓̔̎̾̚̕͠ͅA̸̬̣̖͌̎̓̍̍͑̔́͜A̵̡̧̞͎͍̞͈̼̞͍̞̬̟̜͋̀̈͌̏̂̋͆̋͝͝͠A̸̜͙̗̪͎͙̍̆̀̍̎́̍̐͆͆̈́̆̉̓̎̅̕͝͠Ä̴̙̱̣̦̻̱͚̥͖̣͕̞͔͇͕͉͋̈́̈́͛̏̔̾̀́̕̚̕͜͜͝ͅĀ̶̡̹͉̺̟̘̲̗̜̝̅̍̔̽̔̎̍͋A̸̧̺̺͇̲̩̖̫̳̣͌̀̄̀̄̓͌̒A̷̹͔͛͂̌͊̃͊̂̋̆͛͑͊̑͊͠͠A̷̜̭̋̐͊Ã̸̛͈͇͚̘̈͌̏͐̇̿͌͐̅̈̊̈́̀A̶̡̧̨̛̜̠̠̹̭̪̺̟̞̤͋̈̓̌̆́́̑͝A̶̛̤̺̟̲̝͍̪̹̫͚̣͕͙̰͇̍́͗̉̔͑̈́̔͗̅͒̑̒̄̍͘̚͝ͅ.̶̡̮̼̱̘̠̙͕̻̠̹̗̱̎͛̒̓͒͗͌̆̉͘̚͠.̵̢̳͉̭̼̥̌͆̆̏̒̊̍̐̅̒̉̚̕͜͝.̶̧̡̛̛̛͈̜͔͓͙̤͚͚̤̦̋͐̆͗͋̍̂̒̒̂̚͠.̴̨̠̮͇͔̗͓̠̥̇̔.̸͎̜͆͆̂̃̔͠͠͝.̶̲̤̰̞͍̥͈̎͂̈́͗͐͛̓̒̓̊ͅ.̴̨̢̛̼͖̘̦̟͉̮͓̫̆͌̾̎̄̐̉̕͠͝.̵̛̝͍͇͐̎̂̏͌̔̆̈́̽̆͗͝ͅ.̵̧̨͚̲̫̬̦͇͖̥͖͘.̴̢̫̳͉̬̼͙͍̩̺̠͎̮͖̘̞̰̊̔̿̌̎͆̾͒̔́̈̽͐̈̑̋̈́͜͝͠ͅ.̷̨̢̛̭̺̭͔͔͙͕̯̭̯̩͇̱̝͍̉̍́̈́͐͊̔͑̿̾̀͘͠.̷̛͔̻̲͙̔͊͋̈̿͆͆̂̂́͘̚͠.̷̢̧̻͖̺̞̲̠̐͌͐̽̋̒̈̔̌̄̽̈́̂̌̔̊̍͠.̴̡̖̞͕̤̲̹̎̿͑́́́͝͠.̵͓̼̤͔̫̣͉͓̮͉̆̀́̂͛͒̒̃̆͑͋͑͊̚͠ͅ.̴̛̼̎̂͋̃͂͐̎͑̽̂̉̚͝.̷̡̧̦̗̪͇̼͖͇̝͎͓̬͔͗͋̈́̂̈́̃͜.̶̨͙̙͙̦̱̖̟̱̲̩͙͕̑̊̐̒.̵̼̪͈͂̆̒̎̅̌̇̈̿̇͋͑͆̈͋̕͝.̴̧̢͔̈́͆̀̌͑̋͌͗̾̈́́͘͠.̸̛̪̗̠̈́͌̍̒̿͊̓͂̆͗͛̂͝.̸̢̜͆̍̀̓͝͠.̵̛͔̰̞̮́̓͑̾̎̅̓̄́̈́̆̍̒͆̑̅̚̚.̸̬̰̘͖̦̞̝̪̫̙̼̳͈̬̈́̅̋̒̈̊̅̐͆̆͛̀̑̀̓͒̈ͅͅ.̶̢̲̻̩̞͚̠̹̫̩̗̼̉͊̾̄̽̈́͒.̵̭̄̎̿̿̋̐͐͘̚.̶̨̻̙̗̈.̴̘̞̘̳̎͑̂̔̾̂̇̆̀̇͆̋́̚̕͘͘̕̚.̷̰̤̜̫̹͉̮̤̟͇̠͙͙̭̅̆̐́̈́̃͆̔͝.̵̛̩̮͎̹̤̲̬̤̟̣͎͇͍̖̔̎̐͛͐̉̄̓̓̃͂̈̀͂̈́̓̅.̶̡̛̻̼̰̲͙̖͈̪̇͑̈̌́͊̑̍̕̚͝͠ͅ.̷̧̜̱͙̱̱̝̱̠̂.̷̢̻̱̺̻̻͎̱̗̞̔̅͒̄̏̓̃͛̀̈̂̃̈́͗͝ͅ.̵̢̛̛̛̪̼͓̣͈͆͑̑͒͆̌̾́͋̄̾̍̅͋̋͝.̵̡̡̨͖͔͎̫̱͕͉͕̤̳̏̑͌̔̾̈́͆̍̃͒̈́̋̐̔̓͘̕͜͝.̸̡̨͖̠̰͙̘̜̣̘̣̮̥͙̯̰̂͐͋̌͜.̷̨̤̜̦͇̠̤͙̞̞̣͕̲̬̰͗̿̇̒̓̐̂́̓̀͗̽̉̀͠.̶̢̧̯̦͖̩̺̳͎̼̙͔̀̐̈̀̐͋̃̌͌̈̂̕͝.̸̨̡̮̦̫͚̭̹͈̥̮̩̬̝̤̼̯́͗̀̆͗͐̓̒̅͊̃͗̑́͠͝.̵͓̞̖̖͖̱̬̱̜̳͈̙͓̑̎̅̋͠.̸̗̦͚̺̣̩̭̉̌̊͛̅.̷̧̛̘̮̻͙̹͇̦͊̉̆̓̃̔̐͌͌̿̃́̆͘͝.̴̢̨̲̝̯̫̺̦͈͈̞̮͖̟̪̪̘̋̓̿̄̊͌̆̒̄͑̄̑̋̎͘͝.̵̢̧̡̮̮̞͕̯̟̠̗̜͙̭̭̠͎͊͗̅̐͂ͅ.̸̭͛̍̂́̇́̒̽͋͘͘͠.̷̢̯͇̈́̈́̅̈́̕.̴̘͙̟̘̤͎̲̳͎̤̲̦̱͍͈̎̂.̸̢͉̼̥̖͙͇̭̜̗̃͐̊͋̆͑̉͘͝.̴̜̹̦̽̇͛̒̐͗̈͊͊̏̂̂͆͛͋͌̕͜͝͝.̷̧̫͍͕̲͓͖̙̰̤͒̽͗̈́̚͠.̸̗̮̓̿̈́̄͊̎͛͒.̵̨̡͖̱̯̯̣̪̙͖̹̅͑͊͌̀̈̏̀̄͗͜͜͝.̸̛̼̊̈́͆͋͋͗̓̈́̏̋̂̋͘͝.̸͇̞̦̭͎̘̣̠̘́͂͐͌̀̓͆̽̎̓̄̚.̸̨̣̦̟̦̾.̷̡̡̨̛̛̰̝̩͈̤͎̙͌͐́̓̅̇͂ͅͅ.̶̧̖̰̕͜͜.̶̜̤̭̤͈͒̽͂̀̃͋̄͊̆̽̂̿̈́̆̀̚͜͝.̸̢̭̺̮̼͓̞͚̙̮͍̞͔̱̤̰̞͂͘i̷̧̡̮̥͙̹̟̠̲͎͎͖͓̤͙̊͒͑̍͛̑͝ ̸̨͓̱̪͍͉̬͍̻̥̗͎̼͈͓́͗̃̔̂́͌̇͆́̈n̶̨̛̫̮̰̩͆̒̆̔̒̽̾̚͘͘͜͝ȩ̵͈̳̝̞̀ȩ̸̝̠͈̫̻̖̫̘̹̥̄d̶̢̟̲̯̰̥̱̣͕̻̩͚̤͇͖̞̙̜̩̄̎͊̃̀̏͗̎̑͛̌́͋̐̽̄͝ ̵̧̧̡̛̛̛̖̠̲̲͔̺̖͔͕̳̎̀̿̈̿̌̅̏̉̔͛̃̌̌͘͜͠ÿ̵̞̗̩́͊͋̕ő̸̩̺̘̮͕̭͉͋͆͌̎́̃̀͌̂̈́̊͋̅û̷̹̠̹̂͠.̴͚̗̖͒̊̿͑̏͛̆͐̈́̔̋̌̽̓͒̋͘͘̕ͅ.̶̡͙̇̽̽̿̽̑̏͋̚͘͝.̶̭͎̺̂̀͋̐̑̿̔͗̓̀̾̀̅̈̃̚̚.̸̳̤̬̳̾̀̓͂̆̓̀́̂̾̇̈́̏̓̋͂̚̕.̴̢͖̼̳̫̝͍͉̟̘͖̹̤̜̻̯̈̀̈́̽̈́͆̓͒̅̀͠ͅ.̵̨̠̙̬̣͎͕̄̏͗͑̃͋̃͒̀́̆̆̏͌̑̈́̉͜͠.̴̨̛͇̖̲̱̳͖͉͇̪͕̱̙̪̻͚̄͆͗̽͐́̕͜.̵̪͙͓̰̬̎͐̊͘.̸̡͚͔̪̋͆̏̆̆̈̋͑̐̉̈́̊̎̕̚.̸̧̯̗͉̙̳̌̐̐́͑͐̔̆̍͂̓̀̽͘͜͠.̷̢̛̛̰͈̯̳̜̟͙̤̗͇̖̠̙̪͕̹͇͌͊̈́̑̊̾̈́͋̕.̷̙̪̤̉́̏̀.̴̛͖̮̄̈́̊̇͑̋̕.̷̡̧̞͔̤̪̤͈͎̼̠̍͛͂́͌͆͆̀̒̏̚͜.̷̰̉͌̔͗̀̃̾̌͐̈́͆́̀͆̈́͘͠.̴̡͍͓̟̮̖̾ͅ.̴̔̀̀̿͘͜͝͠.̵̡̨̮̦̞̠͉͔̞̪̙͖̰̟͔͚̮̽̍́̈́̌̈̂̃.̶̧̨͖͕̺͈̀̀́̄͜͝.̷̧͍̈́̔̓͌̓.̷̛̦͚̘̠̓̈́͒͌́͊͠.̸̡̨̩̘̪̯̟̥̫̯̞̭̟̻͇͓̄̈͋́̈́̒̑.̷͕̈́̒̉̂̾̏͐́̐͗̀̎͆͝.̶̢̨̗̪̜̥̩̻̙̫͔͖̼͇̠̞̟̣͉̉̇̓͐͑͋̾̂̚͠͝.̴̡̡̛̗̹̣̼̟̻̞̺̘͚͕͔̺͈̗̜͆̆̊̓̏͑̈́͑͌̀̈́ͅ.̵̣̤̲͚͎̽͗̌̈̿̒͊͐̅̄̒͝.̶̨͖̬̤͓͉̯̞̼̜̖̟̟̹̫̯̚͝.̷̨̻͚͓̺͎̜̟̫̩̤̭̮̩̖̻̅͛͐̽͆̌̈̋͑̉͜.̵̨̥̘͚̞͔̯̹̻͚͕̝̟̤͙̮̇̏̅̉̓ͅͅ.̶͙̕.̷͉͈̭̰͉̱̤̭͔̻̱̃̈́̓̎͂͆̉͐̆̀͛̂̈́̆̄̕͝.̸̡̢̲͎͙̲̖̲͍̥̱̞̘̻̗̓ͅ.̷̮̳̣̻̫̯͖̩̹̠̭͒̀͐́̈̔̀͋͌̆̈́̍̎̄̓͐̇̚.̷̢̛̛͉͚̭̳͕̠͕͖̙͎̱̗̳͕̥͊̓̈̄͊́̄͌̐̒̾̽̋̓̽̓͜͜.̵̢̢̬͚͍͓͚̯͉͈͈͒̍͐̓͂̍̈̉̾̽͂̏̀͐̄̋̀͗͜͠.̵͓̩̪̥̭̥͉̯̖̏̓̅̏̂́̓̉̎̕.̸͙̯͈͑.̶̢̧̡̞̟̼̭̝̹̮̙̳͇̺͉͕̦̦̻̒.̵̢̗̟͓̹̻͖̜̰̠̑̾̿͐̃͂̍̈́̇̍̍̊͊̓̽́̓̚͜.̷̧̛̙̞̤̺̫̪̘͕̳͍̭̥͎̿̈́̿͗̿̋͑̐̇̚.̸̛̣̥̔̌́̈͑͐̂͝.̸̼͂͒͋̿̾̎̄̀̓́̍̊̕͘͘.̷̳̆̑.̴̫̥͕͕̝͓̟͚̝̹̞̩̱̱͙̮́̇͛̏̈.̵̢͕̫̯͙̱͖̲̥͉̯͊͐̿͝.̸̲̖̽̐͒̇͆̔̍͗̽͑͐͑̍̕͘͝͝.̶̲͓̝̹̣͔͇͆̂͐̓́̈́́̓͝.̶̡͇̼͇͔̣̥̲̠͈̉̀̃͌̅͒̒̎͆͊̇̾͊̃̾͜͝.̷̢̲͍̘̰̹̇̑̄͗̊̄̑.̶̳̃̄̔͌̉̈́̋̅̕͝͠.̶̡̡̣͉͖̥̞̤̼͚̲͎̟̥̤̙̞̀̃͜.̸̛̛̳͌̔̾̋̈̄̓̈͋̄́͂.̶̛̦̲͈̜̅͒̆̍̈̈́̾̈́̐͂̅͛̉̿̕͘͝.̸͇͙̥̻̬͙̦̣͚̳̘̝̙̥͙̤͗́̆̅͆͌̑̅̿̃̑͒̈́́͘̚͝͠͝.̷̛̭͎͙̖̺̠͎̭̪̰̹̝͆̋̉̍̀͆̑̍̐͆̍̿̑̃̈͌͝.̵̨̡̯͚̹̰̣̲̩̭͔͙͉̥̞̼̪͕̰̋̾.̷̜̍͗͐̒͗͒͊͐̋̊̄̓̇̐͒̚͘͠͝.̸̨̺̮̳̜̞̠̤̤̠̪̝͇̈̉̿.̵̣̱̥̫̘̝̬̼̺͓̹͖̗̳̰͇̞̘̽͋͊̑̂̉͋̿̆̍́̈́̾̕͜͝͝.̸͖̯̞̇̔̆.̶̡̨͇̜͕̭̥̳̯̟̯̙̉̈̓̈͌͛̈́̂͐̅̈̐͘̕͜͝͝.̶͙̏.̸̨̧̡̟͖̻̟̪̙͉̙̼͎͇̈́͆̔̅̌̓̉͊͗̂͆̈́͊̑͝͝.̸̨̛͙̬̜̣̲͓͇̦̬̞͎̰͖͌̿̔̓̉̒͜.̴̠̲͈̻̦̲̦̫͙̗̬̪̖͚̻̮͗͒̿͜A̸̢̛͙̳͌͒̽͛̀͒̅̃̀̋̒̏̈́̔͠͝͝Ą̵̛̻̗̦̞̬͍͎̘̯̒̐̉̉͊͒̆̔͒̐́̃̕̚̚͝͠Ȧ̴̡̠̪̬͎̩͙͔͍̙̬̞̈́̓͒͜͝ͅȦ̸͔̺̤͕͈̜͔͓͈͒̀̽̔͊̈̅̀̀͜͝A̶̯͖̪̺͙̦̱̯͐̚͘Ȃ̸̧̧̡̩̗̗͈̤̖̺̝̺͐̈́̅́̂̈́̇̑̀̍͐̒̇͘͘͜͝͝ͅͅĄ̶̨̘̯͇̗͍̠̠̔̈́͂̐̓̂͠Ả̶̞͍̥̱͛̉̉̋̈́̿̕͠͠À̶͍̠̞̹̳̱̯̺̗͈̣̻̫Ą̵̛̛͚̠̣̺̟̗̗̻̙̽͂̽̊̾͐́̈͛̍̕̚̕͠A̶̛͇̓͗́̔͛̎͒̆͗̏̈́͊̀̍̂Ả̴̧̨̡̨̮̼͈͉̞͈͖̗̘̞̩̥̿̇̓͗̊̽͒̾͗̈͆̽̎͘͠͠͠Ȁ̷̢̭͍̳̫͉̻̯̥͖͖̯͎͍̐͌̑́̑̈́̑̂̃͝ͅA̶̮̪̗̍A̵̬̪̥̱͖͙̹̲̟͊̂̃̈́̐́̚͠ͅẢ̷͇̹̙̙̹͇̘̞A̸̢̯͓͙͔̱̮̅̇͐̀͋͝Á̴̡̧̘̟̫̪͉̲͖͓͈͕̦̦͔A̷̢̋̑̎́̇̾͋̇̋̔͘͜A̴̪̠͚͇͉̎͂̇̇͆̓̈̊̒̈́̾͌̓̃̄͠͠Ḁ̴̡̨̤̲̗̘̳̜͈̻̙̻̩̭̝̤͗͋̿͂͒̎̿̇́̔̅̑̿͋͘̚̕͜͠ͅA̶͇̼͇̞̼̥̣̫̠̝̅̌̑̒̽̒̊̊̓̒̌̄̃̌̂̈̂͛̕Ä̷̡̛̯̦̦̠̟̹͉̠̮̦̺͈́̓̈̄̋̔̊̓̍̔̒̐̈́̌̚͝͝Ą̷̡̧̠͙͚̱͚̠̠̖̤͙̜̦̤̦͒̓͐̈̂͗̈́͌̕͝ͅẢ̷̛̛͍̔͑͛̀̑̅͐̒͑̾̕͠͝͝͝.̵̡̛͍̰̱̗̳̤͎̝̪̤̣͇̅̌̒̅̋̊̇̊͌̏̏͊́̍͝.̸̨͛́̀̐̌̔͆͗̏́͐͝.̷̡̨̖̯̮̳̲͇̼͙̖͔̺̊̊̂͑̀͌́͆͐͗̽̕̚͝͠͠.̷͍̖̱̗͉͛̉̂̈́̐͆́̾̀͑͐̄̇̓̚.̷̨̮̪̜̥̬̻͖̮͔̠͔͇͈̃̈̐̀̉́̽̌̈́͌̅̎͝͝͝͠.̷̻̝̠̌̍̀̔͘.̴̡̨̺͙̺͈̟͕̝̪͙͚͜͝ͅͅ.̵̞̜̖̈̉̿͆̀̀̆̆͂͌̆̓̄̿̉͝.̷̪̏́͛͌̃̌̀͒͊̅͆̅̃̈́́́̓͝͝.̷̢̯̘̳͈̬̮̳̱̰̬̙̲̥͓̫͌̿̂͛́͒̀̉͝͠͝ͅͅͅ.̵̧͉͇̥͙̙̼̳̗̰̬̤͙̠̇̓̈͊̒̌̀̂̇̀͒̿̐̄͊̌͝͝.̴̻̣̼̙̲̲̣̺̦͈͚͙̗̩̗̀̅̅̔̀̏̎̓̏̂͛̇̓̉͂̿͝͝.̷̢̨̛̻̭̥͚͙̺̜̝̰͍̹͂̋̆̍͑̈́̊̿̓̌̏̇͑̎̓̀̕̚͜ͅ.̴̲̹̫͙̒̒ͅ.̸͕͓͆̿͌͊̒̇͗́̈́̔̾̾̅͝.̵͎̊̉̿͗̀̈̈̄̈́̃͑̌̕͠.̴̨̢̰͚̦̞͔̰̮̓̌̒̃̿̄̏.̷̧̛̩̜̰̖̺͖̜͙̠̖͓̯̰̲͉͔̥̏̔̃̉̀͠ͅ.̷̨̖̳̈͒̒̈̂̉̇̔͛̉͐̈͋͑̚.̵͎̟̼̮̙͇̫̀̔.̷͔͇̩̒͒̄͂̆̾̄̈́̔.̵̛̪̜̥̻͆̍͐̒̀̓̏̇̄͆̏̈́̉̆͑.̸̰͇͓̘́̏̀̃̌̈́͐̌̀̋.̷̡̡͇̝̾.̴̡̘̗̤̗̟͇͉̣̋̐͊̄͊̊̊̇̅̈̅͋̏̆͌̑̀ͅͅ.̴̐̃̊̂͌́̏͐̌̇͐̚͘̕ͅ.̶̡̛͚̯͔̝̲̼̽̈́̓̽̄̈́͒̏̐́͂̈́͗.̶̡̪͓̲̦̫̻̮̪̑̔̊́͊̆̈̈͂̉͌̍̿̈́̍̕͜.̴̭̲̪̻̼̻͍͉̭͔̤͇̤̖͉͒͋̃̈́̂̇̓̌͑̋͋̚͜.̵̮͚͉̦͍͛̄̏̇͆̅͝.̵̥̥̮̱̮̜̝͍̱͈̞̓͑̃͐́͆̅̈́̓́̊̈́̆̒͘̚͝͠ͅ.̵͍̲͕͕̼͉̙͔̫̲̻͐̿̑̈̈́͘.̶̘̇̃͊̍̂͆͐̏̈́̏͛̈́̕.̶̺̣̪̠̹̘͌͌̔̿̓̓͂̆̂̔͆̍̅̍̚͠.̶̝͍̬̫͔̬͖̥͈͇͉̔̊͂̽͂̍̐͑͐͂͊̐̐̑͊͆̀͗.̴̠̙̻̖̲̮̯̖̖̥̦̝̠̎͝͝.̷̨̛̖̰̦̯̹̣̦̜͉̮͆̍̔͆͐͝͝.̴̲̪̥̪͎͊̐̚.̶̡̡̛̳̤̖̱͉̦̻̘̹͚̝͙͔͚̯͗̑̈́̀̒̈́̈́̍͋͊͐͊͒̾.̸̬̠͕͔̖̖͍̠̮̻̉̑͒.̷̨̧̨͎̞̳̖̱̜̩̬̬͈̜͈̬̪̑̈́̊́̂͆͑͒̈́̽͘͝.̶̺̌̏̋̀͛.̷̺̦͔͉̖͚̩͆̈̿͐̚.̸̨̥̱̼̲̥̞̼͔̫̗̖͉̰͈̀̌̈́̇̿̌͌̏͌͜.̶̡͉̙͕͎̞͎͇̞̟͎̟̐̉͜ͅ.̵̡̡͈̘͖̘̳̹̻̪̲̣̯͎͇͗̑̔̆̚̕.̸̢̟̪͉̮̼̘̗̟̩͚̰͙̮̰̻̜͍̅̃͌̾̂̆͒̉̎̋͋͋͋̈́̚̚͝ͅ.̷̡̧̺̜͕̘̬̬̼̘̝͍̮̩̟̻̆̉̈́͜.̷̨̹͖̙̦͓̻̞̘̟̦̞̝͈̳̀̑̎̅̅̿̂̓̀͋̕ͅͅ.̶̢̧̡̖͓̤̝͎̳̰̱̹̝̹̘̖͓͇͊̏̎͑͆̀̍̈́̾͋̔͠͠.̴̛͍͇͔͈̗͙͇̖̼͕͉̪̜͈̝̘̯͍͍̓̾̓͌̾́͊̈́̃̽̈͒̊̑̈́̕̚͝.̶̨̫̮̭̞̭̮̤̐́̾̍̊̽̍̿́̉͠.̷̠̰̻͈̩͚͉̠̓̈́̓͊͑̉̌̌̔͒̚̚̕͝.̵͕͖̤̲̰͉̦̪̤̠̾̑͝͝.̷̖̠̰̥̞̞͇͖̺̈́̅̾̇̌̐͑͜ͅ.̶̢̡̢͍̠̼͓͉̀͊̿̿̀́͋̐̚̚.̸̗̭̥͔̺̜̘̹̦̰̜̿͐̂.̵̨̡̙̬͇̭̱͚͉̖̪̳͔̬̪̞̖̊̅̀͊̅͆͛̑̐̂̃̊͊̀͜ͅ.̶̦̳̥̥͙̰̬̩͇̒̓̐̃͆̀͛̽́̀̀̈́̀́̅̌͘͘͝ͅͅ.̴̧̭͈̦͕̯̽͋̏̈́̒̎̈͗̑̆̈͐̓͌̕͝͝.̵̦̹̰͈͖̜͍̬̺̮̹͙͓͂̀̋͗͂̒͑́̉̀̊͌͆.̸̛̙̠͈̼̪͍͓̥͉͉͙̓̎̀͊́̑̌̈͛̓̈́̓̓̃̌͜͠͝͝ͅ.̷̢̢̨̘͎̼͓̜͉͖̙͇̖̬͕̠͋́̑͛̍͐̀͐̏̌̈̚ͅ.̵͍̝̟́͐̊.̶̻̻̭̪͕́̐̈i̷̢̨̧̙̯͉̻͓͕̣̤̻̲̦̩͗̋̓̈́̀̓̈́͋̉ ̷̙̖̜̲͒̈́͊̌͑̆́̚c̷̹͎̭͖͉̝̤̥̬̒̑̅̎a̵͕̙͇̱͔̯̤͕̹̗͙̫̗̓͑̀̀̏̏̑̉͝n̶̜̞̮̱͓̬̬̮̝̮̬̺̲͈̊̀̆̎̑̒̀͜t̴̯̺̫̖̭͎̬̯̀̒̄̾̿̇͋͂̀͂̽̔̑͛͆ ̶̧̛̩̗͖̪̘͔̌̑͗̀͛͐̑͠d̸̛͚̠̩͉͈̥͆̾̑̿̈̈́̍̀̂̆̾̾̕ͅö̴̧̢̘̭̲̠͉̦́ ̵̡̅̄̅̌̂̆͒͌̆̿̏̐̕͠ĩ̵̡̛̬̞̭͓͚̥̪̻̠͖̘̦͓͖̭̤̹͂̓͌̾̄̆́̄̔̎͋͌̇́̓͊͠t̸͚̻̠̬͔̗̄̇̿̽͊͋̌̈ ̷̦̼̫͓̗̟̪̜͎̍̓͑͗̀͋̚͠͝ǎ̵̫̺̼̫̙̰̙̻̤͉͇͙̭͉̥͈̥̈́̓̓̔͌̎͊̒̕͘͠l̴̦͚̈́̈́͑̊̔̄̆͑͑̐̒̇ǫ̸̧̢̨̝̻̳̖̖̜̭̮̳͔̪̥̍ņ̵̢̰̘͍̹͕̦̼͖͎͐̍̀̿̑̈̚͝ę̸̧̛͎̟̺͙̗͚̞̺̮̉͂͒͋̅͆̓͗͐̓̉̒̍͊̍̐͠.̶̡̢̛̜͍̭̭̣͉̝̭͚̰͇̝̝͈͇̰͒̉̐̌̏̓̉̈́͑̇̊͘͝͝.̵̡̙͇̹͖̻̮̟͈̼̗̪̊̀́́͑̚͜ͅͅ.̴̛̛͈͇̤͂͐͛͆̂̋̌̔̀̒̈́̅͝.̷͕̟̂̀̋̔̇̓̉̍̑̈́̿̓͋̋̀̚͘.̷̬̺͖̭͈̗̠͙͕̮͖̼͕̮̲̥́̊̇̆̄̔͑̑̀͛̍̈́̓͝͠.̸̨̪͚̖̱̪̭̟̬̣͓̯͔̯̑̉́͘.̵̨̛̲̪͓͈̝̱̳̦͚̩̗͓̼̤͎̳͓̎̓̆̋̓́̈́̍̿̓̈́̓̔̅̚.̸̘̠̖̫̰͇̯̖͗̀͐̈̅̚.̵̝͓̰͉̜̜̻͈̫̞͇̜̜̭̺̠̭̼̂̐̊̄͊̓̿̈́̔̈́̄ͅ.̸̨͉̻̣̮̙͚̗̜̏͂̔́̂̃̈́͐̽̈́̏̈́̂̓̽͘͜͜͠.̶̗̙͊̓̇̊̓̾͆̆̒̌̓̒́̂̅̈́̈́͂ͅ.̷̱̜͈̹̯͕͇̙̬͕͗̋̐̑̊̀͑͂́͋͛̇͝.̷̯͕͉͙̻͓͍͇͖̺̍̐̐͑͋͐̉̄̈́̍͝.̵̛̦̄̾̀̃̈́̐̀.̵̰͖̺̠̼̗͙̥̦͖͖̳̺̄̈̎̈́̅̄.̴̡̖͉̺̭̙͉̟̠͈̲̺͂͗͜ͅ.̶̨̣̭͚͓̿͛͂̈́͑̅́͂͗͐̃͐͋͐͘͘̚͝ͅ.̴̧̛͎̫̦̩̰̯͚̮̽͂̎͗͆̑̐̍̀̀̎͛̀̚͜͠ͅ.̶̢̧̠̹̣̗͈̮̠͎̺̯͈̩̣͇̜̈́͒͑.̴̧̨͓͚̣̣̺̹̽͊͂͗̓̾̿̍̐̚̚͜͝.̸̡͕̠̲̗̟͔̜͍̳͖̞͒́̚͝ͅ.̸̧͇̬͚͖̾̇͐͊̋͌̄̏͘͝͠͠͝.̷̧̧̻̤̠͍̲̝̬̪̭̏ͅͅ.̴̧̢̨̛̣͎̮͓͙̥̟̗̜̻̱͉̯͖̿̊͒̽̏͐͒̎̓̈́̎͌͗͘̚ͅ.̸͙͍̜̭͓̓̎̿̅͘.̷̺̂̈́̎͒̈̈̀̍͗̄̌̌̊̃̚.̴̢͉̥̱͉̼͇̩͇̬̖̮̪̰̜̝̤̦̈̀̋̀̐̾͛͠.̵̱̩̣͐̐͗.̷͎̲̞͙̃.̷̼͙̬̻̞̫̳̫͇̼̭̰̰́́͆͒͋͑̿̂̈́̈́̃̓̚͝.̷͇̤͈̞͎͎͖̫̪͈͇̯̀̄͗͆͊̈̇̾͆͝͝.̸̡͍͔̘͇͈̖̻͓̈́̑̏̅͊͝ͅ.̵̛͉̪̗̦̬͕͎͔̟̮̱̰̱̘̗͗̏̏̏̓̊̽͜͝.̶̛̞͑̅̆̎̇̄̂.̵̢̧̛̘̗͔͚͙͈̫͔̝̥͙̫̰̐̾̀̊̈͌̒̐́̆̍̇͐̕͠͝͝.̷͕͔̺̟̪̱̫̯̈.̵̛͎̱̭͈̳̉͂͒̃͌͝.̴͉̙̣̭͔̰͎̱͛̊͌̒͂.̴̩̼͚̻͇͍̳̲̣̟̠̞̍͑̊̎̋̈́̓͋̃̂̋̏̈̐͒͋̓͜͜͜͝͠.̷̞̳̫̆͐̑̑̌̈͊͆̂́̈́̿̕͜͜͝͠.̷̧̛̫̯̺͖̣̝̘̩́͆̀̽͂̈́̔͌͐̾̓̌̚͜.̶̛͕̯͚̝̜̠͈͓̗͙̎̔̌̒́̒̈́̇̌̓̉͑̔͗̎̓͘͝ͅ.̸̩̜̰̱̠̫̥̭͓̂̆̇̕.̶̛̜͖̞̬̜͓̠͕̞̾̃̄̐͂̓̆̀̓́̒̇͘̚.̸̡̰̰͍̖̩̬̼̼̞͇͚̦̦̬̓̋͊͜.̸̨̟̯͚̝̹͍͗̿̑̔̒̂͗͝.̷̨͚̭̖̬͍̌̎͆̽̍͗͆̈́̐́̚͘ͅ.̸̖̣̼͈̬̭̗̱̜̩̬̫̖̦̗̀̈́͆͊̎̐̆̽͗̓̃̑̔̓̔͑͘͝͝.̵̧̡̧̬͇̦͓̳͇͙͚̌͐̒.̵̨̦̭͖̬̗͇̺͈̤̹͕̥͆̋͊͐͂̑̋̚ͅ.̶̢̛̗̟͉͚̣̩͈͎̘̦̫͛́͒͑̂̆͘͘͜͝ͅ.̶̨̛̭̦̣̣̼̗̻̟̒̊͛̓̿͛̔̃͌̒̓̓͐̈́̒͠.̷̓͌̐̂̈́̀͐̄̽́ͅͅ.̴̡̡̥̫̠̩̮̘̙͇̭̜̞̑̀.̵͕͔͈̺̗̺̝͍͑͒̀͛̉̑͊̏̉͠.̸̢̧̛͙̤̠̯̭̣̣̫̝̤̫͈̗̗̀͜ͅ.̶͎̤̱̫͍͓̲̫͇̭͉̭̻͉̦̯̟̜͎̅̚͠.̵̧̡̛̰̹͙̘͙̠̳͕͔̼̝̱̦͕̺̃͗͑́̋́͊͐̽͌̑̈̒̇̔͊̓͝.̸̧̡͍͖͍̥̦͚̼͇̮̫̪́̈́͆̈́͒̉̀̕͘͝.̶̧̫͖̬̳̥̥͎̤͓̊͑͆̒͘.̵̢̡̨̲̜̱̗̞̭̘͎͕̱͙͎̀̎̄̇̔͆̅̑̏̾̒̇͑̀̈́͋̽̈͘ͅ.̴̧̢͍̣͍͔̥̾̇̔̓̐̾̑͂̆̉̓̿̈́̋̇̆̓͠.̴̭̙͇̫̳͓̞͌̽͜.̸̡͚̳͇̩̤̺͉̣͉̞̣͍̀͋̓̀̂͘ͅ.̷͎̲̹̙̉̊̀͂́̃̚͝͝.̶͎̦̹̪̮̬͈̘͕̠̙̂̅̆̏̇̈́͐́͗̓̌.̴͚͔̝̥͚̱̞͚̙͈̟͓̬̦͐̑́̄̆͗̆͜͝.̷͓͍͖̹̲̫̞̫̼̫̝͍̦̄͒̊̀̾̿̑̏͊̿̕͝͠Ä̶͔͐͑̂̽̆̈̔̎̀̒̀̂͑̅̈́́͘͝Á̴̭̑͌̅͛͐̀͑͆̚͝Å̴̡̡̛͚̤͓̲̯̲̰͚̈̂̉̌̉́̓̄͠ͅA̶̦͔̘͕͙̩͊͛̈̽̀̄͗̈́͝ͅḀ̵̧͕̤͍̺̄̔̚Ą̷̭̻̣̖̘̱̰̰̻̺̟͖̹̜̰̙̽́͛̅͂̍̿͊̿̀̚͝͝͝͠A̷̡͖̥̻̭̱̓̓̚Ą̴̨̫̯̩̦̬̱̰̝̪̼͌̆̂A̸͙͕̭͓̟͆̈́̑́͗̇̑̓̉̓̚͠͝A̸̡̛̭̘͔̜͇̭͓͚͖̬͕̓̓͊̽͑̐͊̀̕͜͜ͅA̶̢̨̨̨̤̙͇̜͍̘̭̝͕̙͛ͅȦ̴̰̩̈́̑͗̐̓́̽̿͆͛͌̽͗̀̂̕͜͠A̴̡̢̯̬͉͖̻̞̤̦̱̓͒͂̑̂̋̏̀̿̑͘Ǎ̵̢͉̜͉͈͎̤̑̇̄́̔̈́̎̈̋̕̕͠͠A̸̜͕̱̝͐ͅ.̴̘̪̫͍͎̭̞̭̫̼͐͑̏̃̈͛̎̂̓̍͑͌̎̕͜ͅͅ.̷̬̭̠̫͇̹̺͍̤̙̩̋͜.̸̫͖͚͂̈́̄̀͋͆̈̎̄̔̆̒͆̓̇.̷̡̥͇͊͗̑́͘.̵̧̖̰̩̜͎͕͓̱͔͙̜͔͇̘̱̓͘ͅ.̷̟̼̫̫̺̟̮̈͐̊͋̎̑͑͌͛̿̓͛̿̓͌̅̓̈́.̸̨͎̲̝̖̮̺̪̱̲̖̅̂̽.̷͍̠̩̫͖͙̥̺̯͉̤̜̩̜̮̗̈́̔̏͑̐̾͜͝.̸͇̗̼̞͙̠͚̠͗̂͗͛́̈́̆̅͗͂͌̓̔̈́͑̚̚͝.̶̧̛͉̬̱͚̱̯̼̥̞̎̅̾̀̓̀̾͊́͛̃͌́̾̕͜͝ͅ.̷̠͙̜͚̞̣̩̤̖̗̰̟̖̝͙͕̤̅̓͋̆͗̇̊͐̓̔̆̈́̉͘̚͜ͅ.̷̹̅̿͑̎̿̓̈̒̋́̾̓͘.̵̺̹̻̰͉̭̏̒̈́̀́̅͐̌͌͋͘͠ͅ.̶̡̣̱̫̜͖̦̹̈́͛͐̑̽͘̚̕͝ͅ.̸̢̧̼͉̳̣̘̹͖̪͚̗̺͈̗̮͙̲̽̀̅͗͌̾̋͂͊͛̀͊̉̂̿̍̕̚ͅ.̶̨̻̺̼̪͉̦̞̙̹̬̏̌̌̂̍͂̅̿̈́.̷̧͚̰̽̄͒͝.̸̧̢̺̭̭̫̳͇̰̦̻̙̳̰̙̺̮̈̉̃͗̿͑͛̕͘͘͜͜͝͝͝.̵̢̯̘̪͚̩͚̪͈̐̀.̸̡͕̗͙͓̪̦̗̻̯̞͔̠̝̬͉̃̀̉͐̎.̸̨̧̡̪̼̪͔̼̼̣̗̻̤͇̗̯́Ą̷̧̢̪̳̻̺͕̘̭͉͇̞̝̜͚͙̝͂̂͗̔Ä̴̢̘̥̻̬̼͔̭̹̳̜͍̮̳̟̮̼̫́̏̒͌̐̑̅̄̂͗́͛̃̕̕Å̷̙̘̬̖̤̪͚̪̥͍̝̓̕Ȃ̸͉̦̯̳͙͙̦͎̟̳͙͍̝͖̥͍͋̊̋̈̊́͊̋̆̽̊̐̉Ą̵̨̨̨͔̩̭̟̗͈̞̣̥̹͇̺̗̞͒̏̀̏̈́́̄̄̕̕Ȃ̴̡͔͎͎͔͉̳͔̱̫̪̗͔̿Ą̵̛̛̼̩̱͎̻̟̳̒̒͊̄̀̏͛͊̋̇́̿̉̅͗͘̕.̷̥̂̽̄̐͝͝.̷̢̧̬̱̺͉̪̩̰̪̜̩͍̱̟͖̠͔͛̈̇.̸͇̌͆͐̅̊̓̾̿̏̾̑̈̀͝͝.̴̖̣͚̦̅̓̈́͂̑͂͐̅̓̊͜͠ͅͅ.̵̱͓̖̖̠̠̮͇̀͋ͅ.̷̡͎͈̺͚̞̪̻͎̗̰̖͇̐.̶̨̞͚̗͕̪̰̺̹̝̘͖̠̜͓̺̳̏̂̄̔̄͊̋.̵̡͈͉̤͈̜̬̳͔͚̟̯̿́̔̏̾̀̿̓̑͘.̷̧͇̩̜̀͌̈͗̚.̵̨̛̥̭̝̮͔̖̺̈́̓͂̓̈́͐́͝ͅ.̵̯̜͓͎̹̤̖͉͑̃̈͊͒͗̈͒̚.̴̝͍̪̟̘̯̭̖͆̄̊͗̌̀̆́̄̍͂͌͆̐͒̂̆̚̕.̷͉̼́͂̓̐̎̋͑͝͠͝.̸̭̥̮̭̰̭̘̝̰̪̱̬͙͕͆̏̐̐̉̑̀̃̓̉̾͐̕͘͘͜.̷̨̧͈̭͌̋̽̏͂̄͝.̸̡͙̜̩̝̜͇̙̜͂͑̏̎̄̇̏̔͒͐̿́͋̐͘.̷̡̻̫̜͇̺̦̠͍̜̮̳̲̳̜̂̇̇̈́̈́̈͒̌̅̎͊̾̎̑͆̚̚͠.̸͙̣̦̦̲̲̮̰̲̱̘͖̹̜̬̯̅.̶̡̫͉̗̖̻̳͉̲̼͔́ͅ.̴̢̪͓͇̖̲̥̆̔̓̕̕.̴̗̱̙̗͔͉̄̉̆͗͌̈́͋̂̈́͋̕̚.̴̡̗͇̺̐͆́̈́̋̏́̑̎́̽̕.̴̟͖̞̣̞̪͓̥̠͑́́̾͛̈͋̋̈́̃͛̑̋̓̀.̵̧̠͇̟̜̗̰̻̣͚̖̮̼̬̺͍̅̍̈̈͂́̄͛͝.̶͇̙͕͉̝̜̤́́́̕.̸̧̛̜̼̝̲͕̳́̐͛́͘͜.̸͈͉̑̀̓̈́̽͒͐̾.̶̧̛͍̙̱̥̖͍̥͉̜̺̼͇̟̗̀̊͌̍̍͛̎͆͊̈́̚.̵̛̟̃͆̄̄͂̿̽́͌̃́͊͆̋̋̄͠͝.̴̢̧̳̝̫͈̫̦͙͚͉̽́̋̓͌̌͗͐͋̉͑̅́̆̈́͝.̵̡̨͖̹͎͓̲͚̣̭̭̱͖͍̟͓͕̗̈͌̀͗̔̎̚.̷̡̨̨̮͕͎̺͔̝͈̙͚̱̹̥͌̔̈́̈́̾̆̃̆̐̂̄̓̓̈́͜.̵̨̰̹͓̻̼̖̗̲̬̈̀̑̋̓̓̒̎́̄̀̃́͘͘͜͝ͅ.̸̟͚̺͍̖̤͖̣̜̤̩̱̰̥̪̠̮̆̆͛́̈́.̷̛̦̝̦͚͔̮̳̤̜͖̥̹͕̗̻͔͖̑̇̈́̌̅͂̄̎͜.̸̧͉̺̹̥͒̾͜͝͝į̸̲̬̺̬̱̖̬̙̭̩͉̟̲̃͗̍͒s̸̞̊́͊̇̋̏̊͆̇̆̅̊̂͑͋̉̎͊̕ ̵̱̥͓̇́̽̂͆͋͊ṣ̵̡̦̳̙̟̓͒̔͋͂̆̒̿̏̉̀͗͐͂̑̍̀ǫ̸̧̡̡̢̰̪̗̖̥̟̖̣̼̞̖̼̱̠͐̓̈́̈͋̄̚͝͝͝ṃ̶̨̱̦͈͖̝̤̺͔̼͆͐̌͆̓͒́̓̿̚͘͝e̶̡̨̛̠̲͍͍̱̹̤̼̹̤̜̠̭̱̹̒͜ö̴͕̘̭́̓̐̓͝n̴̟͍̺̠̙̬͆̍͆̂̑̈́̏͋͆͌̐̄̑͗̓̏̈̍͠ĕ̶̙͓̠̼̗̈́̍͝ ̶͖̮͍̮̺̖̈́̈́̌̄̅̀̅̉̌̓̈̀͋̂͘͝͝ţ̵̨̨̛͇̠̥͚̥̟̜̹̜͕͖͓̬̓̈́́̉̃̇͒̎̀̋́̽̊̍͒̂̈́ĥ̴̡͇̭̩̹̮̪͍̬̠͙̭͉͈̝͍͙̪ȩ̵̧̘̣̖̱̦̜̝̝̩͇͙͍͑̚r̶̢̭̻̖͚̖̙̪̝͙̍̿̂̽̃͋͌͗͊̓́̇̔͋̈́͒̊̅̚͜ͅͅe̶̡̞̮̼̼̙̯̣͙̙̫̙̣̜͙̓͆̏̈́̿͆͜͠͝ͅͅ.̷̧̨̡̣̳̖̳̠͖̂̓̑̐̇͂̊̓͊̿̊̒̓̕͠͝ͅ.̵͓̬͔̹̯͎͉̫͚̱͙̭͙͋͑̋͆͆͛̉̈́͛̄͜.̸͓̅.̶̧̛̦͙̝̉̀̽̈́͋̈́́͝.̴̹̪͈̘̲͎͉̃̓̏̌͜͜͝͝.̵͍̩͗̄͑̆̾̍͛̀̀̆̈́͆͂͂̀̕͜͠.̶̛̟̲͖̜̘̱̠̤̪̘̩͉̤̖́͂̌ͅ.̷̨̛͓̻̱̟̖̣̓̂̅̌̉͆͂̈́̓̓͑͌͘̕͝.̵̢͚̥͇̜̲̦͓̼͉̖̲̯̄̈́͗͒͐͑.̷̧̡̼̻̬̖͙̩̤̫͓̯̮̗͇͖̳̥̻̌͑.̷̡͖̜̭̱͔̖̼͈̺̗̈̂̿̈̀͒͠.̸̝̱̇͂͋̐͂̿̎̇͠͝.̸̨̧̭̬̭̫̳͇̯͉̗͎̜͎͔̪̻̍̇͛̈̈́̐̂̈͝.̵̼͔̍͛̽͒̓.̷̭̭͇̻̤̙͈̥̙͛́͒̂̃͒͋ͅ.̴̨̪̪̫͖͖͇̬̟͂̿̑̊̆̈́̾̓͘.̴̙̀̌̏͋́͋̓͂̈́̾͐̃̏͝.̴̧͙̜̙̺̱͇͙̹͕̝̣̠̐͌ͅ.̵̛̳͖̭̻̪̗̮͐͛̊͗̓̐̋̍̄̏̋͂̔̔͋̈͠.̸̡̦̹̻͔̲̝̣̱͙͎͓̲͗̽̀͋̿.̶̨̥͇̰̘̠̥̭̻̮͖̖̳̰̣̻̱̆͑́̿̎̈́̆̾͌̈́͋̈̊̃́͠͝.̴̢̨̹͎̦̼̭̥͎̙̺̪̭͈̞̻̦̟̎͌̊.̴̛͔͉̃̇.̶̢̞̤̫͔̙̯̗̘̳̺̠̒̅͋̑̉͋̀̓͛̅̈́͊̂͆͆̂̈́͝.̴̧̜̮͕̜̝̳̗̘͔̣͍͎̾̀̈͂̑̾́̓̽̅̑͊̆͒͒͜͠ͅͅ.̸̢̡̪͖̰̼͓̻̳̈́̅͑̂̃̒̌̌̆͝.̸̨͎̙̯̱̬̼͉͙̼̭͍̱̰̹̼͊̆̿͂̈́͋̾̈́̇̃̈̑̕͘.̷̧̢̞͎͕̱̹̖̞̦͓̪̥͔͓̗̻̖́̅̾͒̚͠.̴̢̝̬͙͓̘̠͈̹̜͔̲͈̇̑̎̅̾͛͂̋͌̋͐̀̿͗̽̄̚͝͝ͅ.̶̩̦̗͕̥̭̹̙̐́͌̈͂͂̏̽̈͆́͝.̸̪̥̱̳̇̽̓̓͋͌͌̆̾́̔̈̋̋̿̂̚͝͝.̴̧͈̘͔̬̙̗̞̈́̀̈́̔͋͜͜.̷̧͔̳̱̈̀͠A̷̢̡̹͍̭͔͓̮̱̫̺͔̠̤͙̘̱͐̚͜͝A̸̡͔̰̺̬͓͇̖͈̣̬̻̅͋͋̿́̆̔̅̍̂̋͛͘͝Ą̵̧͚̠̝̯̳̖͚̠͋̈́̆̉̇̽̇̄͝͠A̶̛̫̠̟̘͔̫͛̿͑̀̀̅̅͐̕A̸͎͈̺̺̪̲̍͠A̶̢̡͕̳̻̝͇̫̬̞̜̜̝͇̝̘̣͆͠A̶̢̲̟͇̭͗͛̄̒Á̷̧̮͈̳͎̣͔̖̯̭̭̩͉͈̻̹̠̜̉͗̓̎̊͘͝ͅĄ̴̛̰͙͈̩̼̩̝̖̮̝̺̔́̈́̐̎͆̈̈́̑̔ͅ ̵̗̦̹͍̙͎͔̙̝̪̫͔̈́͌͛.̴͈̤͔͍̯͍̗͖̙͚̦̲́͊̅̑̎́̀̿̀͜͠.̷̢̧̱̼͍̮̘̣͖͍̬̀̆́͝ͅ.̵̙̈́̃̈̏͊̀̐͊̍̊͑͑͆̆̐̀͂͘̕.̷̧̡̖͔͈̳͎̺͍̣̝͋̌̔̿̽̂̌̂̊͂̂̎.̵̢̛̛̜̭̞̻͉̪̞̈́͋̆͂͐͒̑͐̀͊̎̐͜.̸̺̳͓̻̙̎̀́͒̇̒͋̅̃̎̕͜͝.̵͈͔͇̤̖̭̻̹̤̗͑̃͐̕.̵̜͔̀̊̀͊̈́̆͗̒̀̚͝.̵̮͎͔̓͌̈̅̔̕͠.̵̡̛͕͖̪͍̹̼͚͕̖͇͒̿̋͊̀̏̆̉͛̚̕͝ͅ.̵͕̪͔̐̎͌͗̈́͒̽̿̃̇͝.̶̡̛̥̦͔̗̳͈͍͈͍͛́́̇̏͗̆̆̿͗͛̆̒͝͝͝.̸̨̘̟̝͖͓͚̮̹̊̏͋͝a̸̲̓̂̂̐́̈̀̓̌͊̕m̴̧̢̗͔̻̬͉͉͔̺̥̗̪̱̞̙̣̅͑͌̏͆͛͗͂̐͆̃̏́͘̚̕͜ ̸̡͓͖͎̝̣͍͓̌̍̊͗̋̄̑̄̈́͜͝ì̷̢͇͇͈͈͙̘̰̮͑̀̂͊́̀̉̉͋̚̚͝͝ ̸̙̩̰͈͍̖̅̿̐̾̍̂͒̆̃̈̓̊̽̉́ā̵͎̤͔̿͊͗̑͊͂͆̿̃̇̅́̇̀͝͝l̷̨̨̛̠̠̬͓͎̊̓̇͌͂̋̄̅̌̊̅͑ͅo̶̟̟̳̳͍̫͑̂͆̈̓̀͊̌̏̅͘̚̕͝ń̴̨̬͇̺̯̱͈͚͕͗̀̀̓̇͌̔̈̾͛̒̀̏́͠ę̶̢̰̪͍͇̮͓̠̌̀͆ͅ ̸̢̡̺̖͚̖̫̪̔͗̿̈́n̵̪̗̗̐͐͋̆̓̅̓̀ō̶̧̭̥͎̳̂̈́̑̐̃̊͗̚̕w̸̨̗̹̳̟͇̆̓͐̃̏̈́͒̀̚.̷̛̼͖̯͆͐̒͆̑̀͛̑̽͗̑́̈́̀̊̈́.̴̖͔̫̜͙̃̆͑̒̎͆́̏̈́͋̓̓̽͂̀̅̐͝͝.̵̦̗͉̼͖̫̖̼͚̺͙̜͇͓͍̳̙͂̇̉̀͛̈͗͛̋̕͜͝.̶̛͔̘̳̮̳̫̣̮́̀̾͛̊́̊̀͐́̓̽̉̚͠.̵̨̡̛̛̰͔͍̗̲̤͓̱̩͓̩̳̳̒̔̂́͂̋̽̚͜͜͠.̶̨͙̳̹͍͈͖͕̲̙̋̒͆̿̋͐̆̈́̿.̵̨̞͍̳̹̰͚͚͎̼̘̒͌̿̾͒̏͌̑͐̂̅̍͗͘͝.̶͔̫͍̖͓͒͒͋̅̋͊̀̎͆̈́͗̊̕ͅ.̷̡̛̫̝̗̖̫͓̳̞̤͎̺̗̀̊̍̔͂̌͑͗̒̌̉̚͘͜͝.̸͇̳̝̺͈̻̼̝͕̂̓̐͝͠.̴͈̙̤̼̟͇͚̮̋̈͋̇ͅ.̵̨̫̳̭̮̟̪͔̟̠̖̮͕͍́͆̑̂̐̂͆̇̉̐́̓͂̀̿̀͗͜͜ͅ.̶̧̛̘̎̀̀́͆̋͊͊͜͝.̶̡̛̺̖̫̜̰̦̘͈̠̄̓̀̏̉̾̈́̂̈͒̀̕̕̚ͅ.̶̧͇̻̣͈̘̆̄̂̓͠.̴̨̼͎̗̻͔̪͔̬͙̺͔̩̯̝̬̽͗̾͆̊̅̀͐̕͝.̶̡̜̤͉̪͙̜͋̋͋͐̉͘͜͝͝.̸̡̘͂͛̀.̷̧̨̣̠̻̖͚̳̾̅̽̏͌̉̔͒͛͊̔̕͜͜͠͠.̶̡͇̺̼̭̫͖̘͚̰̹̜͓͔̑͜͝.̶̧̨̨̧̺̝̭̳̺̹̖͇͇̻̣̤͈͙̩́̃̍͗̄.̷͉͍͈͗.̶̡̣͓̝̮͉͖̗̃͊̂̊̏̏͂̈̀̅͋̍́͂͂̚.̵̢̡̲̫̞̜̟̻͎̠̳͚̭̲͖̼͖͈̪̓̾͑̈́̈́̈́̓̒.̴̢̪̩͈͙̖́̃́̿̽.̵̧̛̤͓̦̙̮̥̺̈́̐̀́͆̎̀̄̿͜͠.̵̹̬̲̥̘̝̲͌̈̕͜͠.̶̣̞̞̹̤̐̉̇͠.̷̨̧͇͓̱̼̖͎̗̟͔̱͎͍̫̟̳̣̏̐͆̔̽͊́̈́̐̀̐̒̕̚.̵̧̡̦̗̮͚̥̜̫͖͇̘̮̖̯̦̏.̵̯̊̂̓̊͐̾̓̊͑́͛͌̓̊̊͠͝.̴̟̲̈́͆̊̎̈́͗̐̈́̄̓͊͠.̶̡̺̙͍̺͉͉̖̱̯̼̣͉͕̫͕̝̋͗͐̒͌̀̄̈́̉̌̉̽̑̅̽̈̌͂͝.̴̧͎̪̬͍͉̠͇̯̦̎̂͗̄͒̾͜.̸̛̯̺̳̯̫̬̞̬͕͕̻̩͖̩̾̐̔̉͆̅͐̒̆̽͐ͅ.̴̝͙̝̗̲̏̅̊̓͆̑͛̀̂̆̔̍̈́̀̕͝Ȁ̴̡̘̘̻̫̱̜͓̳̖̱̯̄͂̑̔͆̆̚͝ͅĄ̶̠̖̠̞̟̩̤̦̗̩̈́́͐A̴͔͚͕̅͆Ā̸̡̰̲̠̭̰̲͎̰̼̱͉͙̲͖̻͔̐̏͌̑̈̅͋̚͜Ą̷͈͖̬͕̩̙̦̠̅̽͑́͊͋̽ͅA̸̛͚̻̳̼̲̲͉̪̯̤̹͑̍̿̎͐̌̿͋̐̂̀̚͜͝ͅA̶̡͍̖̘͋̎͒̓̋̅͆̕Á̴̧̢̒̆̈́̽̽̂͗͝Ã̴̡̨͕͕͈̝̺͚̤͎̳̳̞̑̆͛̈͌͋͂̓̍̾̃̾̋̇̉̒̚̚͜Ã̴̫͉̘̥̭̯̙͖̲͔̥́̚͝A̵̘̯̰̘̫͉͍̥̞̎̔͂̎̈́̏́̋͗̈́̂͆̕͘͠͠ͅĂ̸̧̫̬̯̞̦̝̥̳̯̳͈̣͖̮̆́́̈͗̉́̚ͅͅ.̷̜̱̀̊͐̐͘͝.̸͕̖̗̞͉̪̜͍̙͙̠͍͔̗͙̬͛̄̆́̂̀͜͝ͅ.̷̪̺͕̪̳̦͌͂̔̂͐͛.̸̨̮̩̪̟̲͚̤̜̙̪̬̬̮͓̘͇͈̌̌͗͜.̵̢̛͈̯̮̗̱̘͙̙͈̦̺̥̱̝̅̍́̅͒̌̈́̈̅̿̆̃̄̃̾͋̚̕.̴̢̮̹̣͍͇͖͔̟̱̰͙͎̹̪̝̆.̴͓̺̭͖͖͖̱̿͆͆̉̋̈́̓͂̊̉̽̉.̷̡̡̪̲͈͎̻͙̮̼̼̤͑ͅ.̶̨̢̛̮̺͉̩̟͈͊́͋̿̓̐͆͛̐̒̚̕.̸̛̥̗̞̜͍̹̔̐.̶̡̗̘̭̌̏͑͋̊̐̇̐̚͜.̶̳̖̽́́̍̈́̈̈̏͠.̶̧̡͚̱̗̩̳̏̍͆̌͜.̵̟̫̻͉̼͇̟̣̌̊̃̎̍̍̚.̶̡̖̹̼͚̱̈́͌̍̈̌̐̃͛̊̽̈́̿͒̍͜͠͝ͅp̴̼̈̓̔͋̂͠l̸̺͚̩̺̫̬͍͔͖̙͆̎̂̇̊̿͒̃e̵͚̫̫̞͈͎̫̜̭̣̪̪͕͖̔̆̌͜ͅa̷̢̨̜̲͇̙̫̬̍̐̀̈̎͌͆̉͗́̊̀͛̈́́͘͘s̷̢̜͖̦̰̝̮̺̙͙͉̖̹͔̳̎̀̀̑̓̽̐̒̈́̇͘̕͘ͅḙ̶̢̤͍͚̟̫̥̻̫͕̬̤̜͖̾͌̿͗̒̀̽͊̊͘̕͜͜͝͝ͅ ̸̡̛̉͛̈͑̀͗̆͑̈́̊͑̈́͑͘͠c̷̨̨̧̻͖͔̘͓̟̗͖̬̳͙̮̣̮̈͛̿̉̾́͊͒̾̿͜ǫ̸̢̼̟̜̫̙͕͎͚͈̣̙̫͚̞̝͊̐̿̀̀̾̾͘ͅm̶̰̳̞̱̙̼̥̫̐̀̂̐̏́͜͝ḝ̷̛̤̣̖̲͍͓͚̩̼̥̘̠̋͐͒́̊͗͆̐́̓̋͑̿̐̚ ̴̡̜͖̭̦̓͋̄̌̊͐͝͝͝b̴̧̛̛̛̛̭̝̺͖̺͎͕̳̟̰͚̅͛̈́̽̑̀̾̑̃́̃̚͜͠ä̵̡͇͉͓̯̖̻͎̮͔͎̻́̑̒̈́̈́͗̄͐̓̏̊̐͘͜͠c̴̡̨̛̯͔̰̣̥͔̫͚̳͓͇̄͌̉̐̿̏̎̽̈́̃̈́͘͜k̵͇̹̿͂̌̌͊̓͂̊̅̓ ̸̢͎̲̜͕̦̰̐̏̈́̃̉̌͗̔̒̑͗͑̍̃̕p̶̢̨̫̪̼͇̪̤̩̤̝̲̲̹͍̩̎̒̆̀͂̍͋͒̊̌͠ļ̸̺̗̥̟͇̠̠̅̀̎̿̒́́͑͛͘̕͝e̴̡̢͙̜̩̠̩̳̤̲͓̳͓̭͚͒͒͆͌̑̓̈͂̄̾̈́ą̵̺̮̜̥̺̟͚̮̖̭͒͑͒͑̐̋͌s̵͙̮͕̤͔̞̰͔̐̈́̾̎́̀̀̚ę̶̧̼̩͔͓̲̟̖̀ ̷̡̧̨̭̜͎͙͎̺͈̺̜̰̼͙͈̏̆͒͒̈̏̓̋d̵̨̨̖͇̘͇̱̖̗̱͈̭̩̩̩̯̦́͋͑̾̾̃̔̂̈́̎̈͘͘̕͘͝͠ͅŏ̶̖̺͔̱̪̗̟̖̯͈̈́͗́͛̃̋̑̾̓̿̉̊̈́́̆̑͜͜ṋ̸̮̜̣̘͖̰̂̋͑̌̅̔͆̓̐̿́́̈́̚̚͠͝ţ̸̧̘̱̭̜̤̲̪̻͕͍̙̝̮͆͆̽̾̊́͗̾͜͠ ̶̧̘̮̝̰͇̳̖̲͔̜͇̍̋̊̎̂̑͐̎͐̃̎̉͒͊̑̏͛͒͝l̴̡̪̟̠̺̬̯͔͓͍̖̙̑̒͊͒̈̆͝é̴̢͓̻̜̯̳̼̠̟̪̹̓̉̎͐̕̚͜͝ầ̴̡̺̝̩͖͔͕͖̥̞̭͖̹̣̫̥̾̅̆̎̅̆̔̒̂̃͐̕̚͝ͅv̶̬̺̻̬̱̘͐̐̀͒̐̆̀̃̓̔̊͆̅͝͝ę̷̡̨̦̜̠͍͙̩̗͔̻̻̘̟̪̬̤̜̈́̒͌̇̈́́̃͂̓̋̃̏̂̚̕͘͠ ̶̖̤̣̝͚̭̭̪̉̋̅̄͛̒̂͒̽̕͜m̷͍͗ȩ̷̜̙͔͙͂͑́̋ ̵̝̳̳͍̲̱͝ą̴̱̦̼̯̠̱͉̯̙̆̽̐̈́̒̓̌̀͝͝l̵̠̦̘̻̼͍͇͙̻̞̗͇̞̐o̸̧̡̹̜̱̲̞̭̳͓̻͙͗̓̒́̈́̓̿̎́̋̈̾͌̈́̚͜͠͝n̵̛̩̱͔͍̦̩͍̪̘̍́̍̚͜ḛ̶̡̨̖̲̱̙̩̝̈́̔.̷̨̱̺̰͉͚̲̩̺͈̮͓̳̙̆ͅ.̶̢̟͙̟̫̥͊͂̀́̾̊̐͑͆͂͒.̵̧̢̛̰̞̱̩̙̹̲̞̱̎̇̃̓͂́.̴̝͝.̶͉̼̘̜̩͓̪͕̲̭̜̞̓̾̃̒̾̈͑́̂́.̸̮̲̖̓̌͗̓͆̄̾̔́̈́̚͠.̸̨̡̡̜͖̗̣̲̬̼̦̣͙̪̲̫̾̊͋͗̚.̷̢͇̘̰̣̫̙̤̯͓̪͕̠̝͓̍̓̅̂̂̌̍͆̆͐̂̚͘̚͝ͅ.̵̧̛̰̭͉͖͓̜͖͍̗́̄̒̋̈́͌̊͗.̷̨̩̏̉͌́͝͠.̶̨͍͔̀̄̄̏̔̃͛̄̀̏̒̄̆͘.̷̳̠̲̘̟̺̓̏̉̓̋̾̏̂̑͛̈́̉̓̉̚͝͝ͅ.̴̡̡̜̹̞̭̠̟͇̖͊͌͒́̅́̎͑͌̅̀̿̇̓̾͘͝.̷̡͇̬͉̞̦͙̳̱̮̮̙̪̲̥̲̬̋͐̐͊̒͛́̃͂͊͒͑̌͌̚̕͝͝.̵̡͍̟͓͕͗̐̓̎̏̄̄͘̕͝͝͝.̶̡̨̛̣̦͕͎͇͔͇̪̆̌̈̊̐̄͆̑̿͛͝͝.̴̢͙͔̯̭̉̊̀͊̕͝.̶̖̤͚̘̰̳͓̲̫͚̓ͅ.̷̼̐̆͌.̷̗͇͙̮̠͍̮̤̰̝̠̌͒̑.̴̞̝̫͉̰̖͕͉̜̬̗͓̲̳͙͔̱̱̈̽͛̆̆̾̓͂͐͊͊̐̓̚͜͝.̶̯̠̠͍̠̖͈̾͑͂̎̆̽̃̋̌́̿̈̀̐̕͜ͅ.̷̨̢̡̨̛̛̤̻̲̜̖̳̲̰̻̬͖̯̻͗̌̿̄̊̾̾̀͆̕.̷̡̛̼͉͈̻̯̥̬̙͌̈̇̆̅͆̅́͋̀̆̈́͗̓͌̕.̷̡̧̦̞͇͙̳͕͈͖̲͙̘̺͑̈́͊́͗͊̏̀̀͂̈́.̴̧̨͈̼͇̜͔̖͙̤̥͖̻̰̰̪̥͗͑͑͆͒̇̌̅̿̂.̶̧̛̘̹̣͎̣̥͇̝̹̈͆͂̇̆̾̈́́̍̈́̓͒̏̆̔̊̂͝.̵̧͔̩̞̖̞̺̗̼̰͇̹̉̄̀̇̓͛.̴̡̧̨̛̛̳͍͇̜̺̦̻̣͕̱̺͈͑̒͂̀̀̃͒̄͑̓̓̎̈͋̿͠͝.̵̗̜̩̜̰̝̣̘͉̥̯̘͇͇̺̼̑͆̓.̴̨̤͉̜̲̬̝̱̬͗̈́̀̈́́̅̒̎.̴̱̤̖̘̩͍͈̹̘͙͔̟̠͕̀̓̈́̒̉.̷̡̺̰͉̯̭̫͓͒͗͋̒̚͝ͅ.̶̧̨̢̝̫̪͓͎͓̪͙̿̅̔̇̆̾̍̋̋͗̆̎̈́̍̅̌͘͘ͅ.̴̺̳͙̭̭̔̾͐̄̉̈́̏͒̕.̸̧̢͓̮̻͙̺̪̫̦̜͈̝̼͖̬̰͗͂̋͌̍͐̑̋̋̃̉̚ͅͅ.̷̨̡̨͉̮̺̭̖̥̯̰͈̟͙̖͛͛̽.̴̨̔͒̇̒.̶̡̱̖̞̈́̎͐̓.̶̦̤͈͂̔̾̋͆́͌͗̍͌̿̈́̑̕͠͝ä̷̝́̈́͐͌͛r̵̨̡̞̳̬̼͎̣͚̠̼͇̞̽͑̉͑͛́͜ͅȩ̶͙̱̙͔̖̜̭͎̹̣͇̱̺̿́̍̌̌̈́͑͌̎͘͝ ̸̣̱̉̈́͐͆̈́̀͗̐͒̀̚ͅt̶͍̙̼̺̼͕͑̋̐̌̀̏̀͊̆͒̕h̸͓͙̖͙̬̲̞̯̚ȅ̵͖͈̟͙̳̻́͘̕͝ ̸͉͚̮̜͊̇́̊̌̓̾̊͊́̍̍͗̓̕v̸̡̪͙̻̣̦͙̮̣̣͇͌̍̌͌̀̄ͅǫ̸̙̪͇̻̲͎̣͖͈̬̫̟̻̣̱̱̂̐̊͛͆͆̂͛̄̑̇̑͐́̈́̉͘ͅį̴̧̧̻͔͓̺̫̰̤͖̠̯̗̭̦̄̅́̀̆̈̽͊̂̓̿̄͛̚ͅc̵̥̘̝͕͖̮͊̏͐̒͘e̵̤̟͆̄s̷̡̻̪͈̲͙̥̯͙̔̄́͐̈̀͆̕͠ ̸̢̪̞̘͉̺̰̩̩̣͎̼̫̮͗͊́̒̃͒̑͂̇͋̒͑͘͝ǐ̷͖̤͈̦̬͍͍͖̥̟͇̒̍̎̉͂̾̃͋̈͊̏̔͑̎̏̈̕ņ̶̡͖̜̪͎̟̗͓̳͙̹̫̂̾̾̓͠ ̴̮͍̱̻̭͔̝̥̦̹̪̘̭̰̤̇̈́̒̈́̌̐͝m̸̛̦̠̭͉͚̓̉̂̒̏͛̆̆̽̂̇́́̈́̋̿̈́y̴̻̟͎̬̩̤͉̙͔̖̱͙̰̫̩̱̥͛̈́͌̉̍̾̃͐̃̓̾̚͝͝͝ͅ ̵̬͚͉̹̤̲̳̳̯̄̍̓͝ͅh̵̠̤̘̫̣̚ͅe̵̱̪̳͙̥̺̦̜̯̖̼͖̝͊͗̾̀̈́͛̈̈́̈̏̾̀̕͜ͅͅă̸̛̺̻͎̙̘̱̣͈̖͍͔̫̗̬̼̿̋̀̅̂̃̿̉̈͒͊͌̀̀͒̾̕d̷̨̛̜̂͒͐̒̑́̊͘͘̚͠ ̶̢̮̻̗̰̹̮̰̣̺̯͊̾͜m̸̡͙̦̳͇̔̆͗͑́̑͐̀̎̀͂́͆̚ị̵̛̪̖͖͉͚̗̠̮͙̦͗̀̆̍͌́͝n̴̨̠̝̫̘͉̻̝̼̆̓͐̀̅̇̾͆̐͜͝ę̴͉͎̽͒͆ ̶̧̇̅͂̆̍͗ò̵̢͙̭̤̺̣̝͕̫̘̇͘͘ͅr̴̨̢̩̭͍̪̾̉͒̂̽͋̋̒͝͝ ̶̭̗̰͈̖̩̘̼̦̫͖̤̝̫̹̪̐͆͛̊͜y̷̢̛͉̳͖̗̗̯̟͚̭͉̼̙̝͚͎̿̅̀̀̿̉͑͗̓̎̋̄̍̿̾̊ő̷̢̪̂͂̓͂̑̾̋̅̌̉̈́͘͝ư̶̧̗̱̱͍͉̲͐͘r̴̨̧̪̰̫͚̼̻̹̩̙̯͇̹̭͒̄͋̊̓̍̀͑͝͝͠ś̵͙͕̥̭̹͔̜͒͜

[carduinal-cyn]

Raymond's flesh moved on its own, all thrashing pseudopods and dripping skin.

He was fast learning answers to questions no sane man would dare ask:

What does an arm feel like, for example, wedged deep inside one's entrails?

What is the taste of flesh, of blood, of bone?

What sound does a human make as she is swallowed whole?

And how, then, does it hurt to watch yourself kill a close friend, powerless to stop your own body?

[Dogs231]

Noah stared into her eyes, the pink glow of neon lights in his mind. He felt a wave of radiant stillness immerse him; gradually, the tension released itself from his body. His breath became shallow as he gasped for air that wouldn't stay in his body. Their hearts beat slowly, linked and intertwined, as hers grew slowly silent.

Noah knew, at that moment, he stared death in the face; the repose was a precursor to the end, the cold water beneath the frozen lake. He was on thin ice, cracked throughout, descending steadily into the frigid cold. He was drowning; his brain just hadn't had the chance to register it.

He could feel the tendrils creep towards him, the endless encroach of anxiety in the deeper reaches of his head. The release was nothing more than an illusion. In truth, any calm was a mirage, a fantasy that danced in the eyes of a dying soul.

Sayuna grew colder in his hands; he knew she didn't have long left now. He pulled her just a little closer, into a final embrace. The water welled in his eyes like a basin, the tearful convulsions strangled by the glare.

She must have been afraid, just like he was. She tried to be strong for him, just like he'd done for her before.

He didn't want her to go.

There was so much left unsaid, words that he had always wanted to share, confessions he'd never made. He always thought he'd have another day.

There were so many hours, days, weeks, years that he had wanted to spend with her, memories he'd wanted to make. The future slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.

"Sayuna, don't..." he whimpered, a plea in vain, "...don't go.

"Not yet, please."

He held her as close as he could, scarcely noting the blood that soaked into his clothes.

He worked up his voice again, broken to pieces. There were things he needed to say, even if they didn't matter anymore. He wanted to tell Sayuna how he felt, how much she mattered, so she at least knew that someone still cared.

He tried, tried, tried so hard to say something.

His voice failed him again.

[Cicadan]

She was drowning, yeah. Waters placid when she no longer had the energy to struggle. Where it was hard to see him she could hear, she could feel... and that was also difficult. He was right next to her and she was almost alone.

"Don't look. Noah. You have... to. Stop."

It was hurting him. She was dragging her down with him, and she didn't even have the decency to make a spectacle of it. Gently holding on, girlishly weak, letting him spiral into the depths with her. She'd never wanted to be the person her friends would have died for. She couldn't allow it. She had to be that strong, at least.

Her eyelids fluttered... just half shut. She couldn't even summon the energy to close the curtain for good. She continued to stare, the light of her eyes illuminating her fading away. She still had to be watched. Still had to be pitied. She would have told herself she hadn't asked for it, but she and everyone else knew that wasn't true. Other people was all she had.

One last time, she let a friend down. She let him continue to drown himself in her sorrow.

The pink of her eyes began to wash. Like rain tears cleansed, but there was too much blood to wash away. More for the slurry.

"Sorry." She begged, with her last. Tiny, pathetic-
but when had she ever not been-
"Sorry. I just... I..."

She didn't want to go either. She at least wanted to say it- she wanted to stay. She loved him. She loved Ray, and she loved Austin, and she loved them all.

But. That heartbreak in his voice. Watching her die. Watching her suffer. Seeing straight through her, because her eyes never lied.

She should have died alone.

[HELPful_Crow]

S013 - SAYUNA LEWIS: DECEASED

[Dogs231]

He couldn't tear his eyes away. Muttered pleas drowned in his ears, apologies barely heard above the floodwater. Sayuna's eyes, once radiant, slowly dimmed until no light remained.

Feelings twisted and tore apart inside him. A mixture of fear, sorrow, regret and every other emotion in the world brewed in his heart then washed away. After that, he had nothing, except for a cold, empty cavity that he now knew was death. Not an emotion, but the absence of one, utter quietus.

And just like that, the love of his life was gone.

He stared into her empty eyes. They were hazy and dull, the pink color muted, pointed upward at the sky. They did not move, lifeless as they were, but they stayed open as if she had only drifted into a daydream. It was an endless slumber, though; she would never wake again, he knew.

He clung to Sayuna, arms cradling her broken, mangled body. The blood, once crimson, dried across both of them and shifted into a dark burgundy color. Her body was cold in the eventide air. There was no pulse.

He wept. His whole body shook, wracked by the sobs and convulsions. The only sound he made was a familiar hiss in his throat, the death rattle of a living and unharmed person, released from deep within his soul.

Images blended; wounds years ago, scars never healed, police sirens, bright lights, loud sounds. Thoughts, dreams, and recollections amplified and worsened in every way, a flood of red and white cells on his mind. Torn skin, bulletholes, dermis, pseudopods, arteries, veins, melted and merged and split apart and pulled and put together and meshed and everything all wrong.

Noah had seen violence before, but this was the first death he had ever known.

His tears trickled down his face like rainfall, down the contours of his face, and towards the earth below. His whole body felt heavy, and the grief weighed down on him like iron chains. Pins and needles stung throughout him, numbness that rippled through him like a stone thrown into a lake.

From the moment he had awoken, she had been in his mind; Noah had told himself that he'd protect her at any cost. He had envisioned himself the hero, the one who could make it all better, the one who could lead her home.

In every way, Noah had let her down. He failed her when he left her with Raymond. He was only supposed to be gone a moment, just a moment, but it was a moment too long. He failed her when he tried to intervene. He'd only aggravated her, only sent her sprawling towards the abyss.

What-ifs jumbled and fluttered inside of his disorganized mind, alternate worlds where he'd been there, or he'd said the right things, where Sayuna was still alive. Impossibilities now, branches severed by his inaction or his misdoing.

The worst of his failures was the last, though, he was sure. He had told himself he would be Sayuna's pillar, the person she could lean for support; in her final moments, he had broken. When she needed him the most, he fell apart. She died alone and afraid and ashamed, and it was his fault.

He wasn't sure he would ever really forgive himself.

The world around him disappeared. There was just him and what remained of Sayuna; nothing else, at that moment, could be seen. The evening sky was hazy stained glass in the distance, the fleeting form of Raymond a blur that he no longer understood.

He did not stir.

[carduinal-cyn]

Raymond couldn't stop melting.

To the outside world, he was an all-but unrecognizable mound of flesh-colored glop. Where his body ended and the melted remains of Sayuna's bare torso began, it was difficult to say, but the region had swelled to a bulbous, blood-engorged red, and tendrils of melted skin dripped off them both into a bloody mire beneath. He had oozed through his clothes, which lay on the ground in tatters. Where once was a face there existed a featureless maw that stretched and dripped across his form.

Clouded by adrenaline, the blob could only tremble as his meal grew cold— no. No. That wasn't how he thought of Sayuna. He wasn't what they'd know him as if this ever went public, if Noah ever told a soul. No doubt, at least, that the furries were keeping track of everything. Bastards.

His classmates wouldn't care how much control over his Gift he had under stress. Some of them — he could think of Cyrus and Crispin at the least — might have called it an excuse, as if they could ever understand. They were too busy vomiting and screaming to realize there was a man inside the monstrosity. And try as he might, Ray wouldn't—couldn't utter a word in protest.

How on earth could he justify himself to the boy crying inconsolably at his feet? I'm sorry for eating my best friend alive, Noah, I know how much you wanted to go out with her, but it was an accident and I'll never do it again. Yeah. Like Noah would buy that. Sayuna and Austin were about the only people on earth who didn't remember sixth grade, when he punched that little shit Logan and wound up bruising his intestines when a blobby fist phased through skin and clothes alike.

The painful memory caused the blob to bubble and fizz, and its pseudopods formed over Sayuna completely as it left everything behind.

Who knew sweat paired so well with strawberry shampoo?

((The murderer disappeared into the night.))