[No freedom, hm? Not even for himself? Strange. Up until Vergilius got all up in his face with his bitch ass attitude, Lobelia was having a fine time. His heart felt light for the first time in years, he felt happy, but now the source of that happiness is threatening to rob it from him.
It's a cruel twist of fate, truly, and it only serves to further anger Lobelia. So unwilling is he to feel sorrow, regret, that he would rather lapse into frustration, tossing his head back to exclaim his woes.]
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It's a cruel twist of fate, truly, and it only serves to further anger Lobelia. So unwilling is he to feel sorrow, regret, that he would rather lapse into frustration, tossing his head back to exclaim his woes.]
Oh lΓ lΓ ! J'ai perdu mon temps. Il ne m'aime pas. C'Γ©tait pour quoi tout Γ§a? J'aimerais Γͺtre vraiment mort. Je prΓ©fΓ¨re Γͺtre mort que d'avoir Γ nouveau le cΕur brisΓ©!