Out of the frying pan, into the fire, Lobelia. This isn't even a true afterlife.
[No, if there is a real afterlife, that's where he's cold and alone, he's decided. He cannot believe in a fake garden of flowers constructed by another. His soul doesn't belong here. After his hope has been realized, it should be sent to a place where he will forever live out his own sins and repentance on his own.]
[He makes a low noise at the statement, glancing over his shoulder for a moment. Yes, there was a Vergilius that cried out his name, over and over. But maybe that was a mistake. He's been making a lot of them.]
If you really knew me, you would know this isn't what I wanted. There's no freedom here. Not even for you, I suppose. [He curls up a little more, heart aching again...ah, what a terrible thing.] So much for your love.
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[No, if there is a real afterlife, that's where he's cold and alone, he's decided. He cannot believe in a fake garden of flowers constructed by another. His soul doesn't belong here. After his hope has been realized, it should be sent to a place where he will forever live out his own sins and repentance on his own.]
[He makes a low noise at the statement, glancing over his shoulder for a moment. Yes, there was a Vergilius that cried out his name, over and over. But maybe that was a mistake. He's been making a lot of them.]
If you really knew me, you would know this isn't what I wanted. There's no freedom here. Not even for you, I suppose. [He curls up a little more, heart aching again...ah, what a terrible thing.] So much for your love.