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The soft feet stepping, the blades sharpened and the regard
for life wasted away to nothing. As only one rule is kept
in mind (with the heart detached from anything worth
feeling). And then the fire and the death, as callous hands
stop callous hearts, and even the memory is erased with the
fading of the light. The tower is lit again (like a funeral
pyre) and the silent motives dissappear into the all
encompassing shadows. Without a trace, without a memory.
How could we free anyone when we can't save ourselves.
