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Nobody would call me a champion of subtlety. My folks
would probably say I'm akin to a fox. With dubious intentions,
they would forestall the ethereal meanings of my existence. I
could cry to see my life pried from the hands of a god.
I am a vision reflected from their burning gaze. They fear
the animal that they loosed on the world. With obvious trepidation,
they would forsake the hammer of justice I surely deserve. I
Could cry to see my life pried from the hands of a demon.
This, the chapter's close
Copyright © Christopher Goss