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The wind howls through wrought iron cemetery gates. Night has fallen and the full moon now casts an eerie shadow on the headstones widely spread about the land. The shadow of a cloaked young woman falls on the walls of the mausoleum.

          The young woman pulls the hood off her cloak, revealing long, deep crimson hair, the moon glinting off her pale, white skin. She sits alone on the steps of the mausoleum inspecting her arms. They are lined with self-inflicted lesions, bruises, and burns. One deep scar stands out in particular.

          She winces as she touches it, speaking aloud to herself, “It’s never going to happen again...”

          “You’re right, it won’t.”


The End

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