❝ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞. ❞ the Harbinger sighs. there is an undeniable truth to these words. the only thing a fine Harbinger such as himself could envy the rotting corpses, would be freedom above freedom. the dead care not for wars, worries, the end of it all. they simply exist amidst the soil && perpetuate the endless cycle of life. Scaramouche . . . he has to persist the erosion. while once envying the dead, wishing to cut the thread short, it all had changed with but a spark of hatred towards the divine && the living. ❝ I take, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘋𝘰𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳? ❞