Pray, tell me.
What has come of me?
Must I watch you wither and die one day as all I've known has before me?
Or will you live on with me?
Maybe one day, without me, to tell my tales.
But we both know, that day will never come where I am no more.




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Demonax has a Gardenia that thrives in her den where the ceiling of it is cracked and allows sunlight and enough rain in.

To be frank.

I haven't been real great.

But Whatever.