ใ€Œ๐™ฅ๐™ก๐™š๐™–๐™จ๐™š, ๐™ฉ๐™š๐™ก๐™ก ๐™ข๐™š ๐™ฉ๐™๐™š ๐™ฉ๐™ง๐™ช๐™ฉ๐™. ๐™–๐™ข ๐™„...๐™š๐™ซ๐™ž

โ”โ”โ”โ” โŠฐ ใ€Œ _*In that instant, he beheld his own reflections, each one vivid, each one real, each one him. Cowering in fear, pathetic in his agony, arrogant yet laughable... And they all coalesced into one body. To accept the past is to acknowledge its failings, to recognize that one is naught but a coward who has achieved nothing โ€” who has nothing. But only by doing so could he break free of his shackles and become, once again, that tragic person. In that moment, he knew this: that the appearances of peace and beauty were but an illusion. The real him had never died, no, it lived on deep within his heart. As long as he still had a choice, he would tread the same course no matter how many times he did this over.*_ ใ€ _*โ€œ...Can you, who has desires of such intensity, still be considered a being without a heart?โ€œ*_ //*gently holds a tiny scaramouche in the palms of my hands*// Itโ€™s not that heโ€™s evil. He lacks empathy and goes into a dis
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