The butterfly flew too close to the flame last night. A flight of fancy, a dream of normalcy, of memories thought dead as the butterfly emerged from her cocoon into the illusion of a new life; all these and more brushed the flame of remembrance, flashing into ashes leaving a fanciful beauty grounded by the ashes of decay.
THE LOUSY, ROTTEN BASTARDS DON'T DESERVE THE FORGIVENESS OF THE INNOCENT...BUT THE INNOCENT DESERVE THE FREEDOM FORGIVENESS BRINGS.
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