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Psycho Romanticist
When we pass through this world, will anything be left behind to show that we were here? Unlikely, but maybe you'll remember, something. Then perhaps it is not all in vain.
We now return you to your regular viewing channel
So it was I worked for Nathanniel in the Underground. I can't really pinpoint it with a single name, because I did so many things, most of them dealing in death. I'm good with the sword now and I was just as good then.

So many people, not all of them vampires, so many dead. I learned to not care anymore. I felt dead, every time I took a life made it all the more certain that what I am is not human and should not be.

I was allowed a place to stay in the dilapidated building. There are others, and they all live underground or close to it. I went up stairs, through the broken down walls and hanging wires of electric death, to find somewhere I could hide. It's hidden away, the small room I call mine. The hallways are dark, and the floors are broken with holes in which one can fall to their end. You can only find it if you know the way, and don't get killed in the process. Because a hole in the wall that shouldn't be is the only way to progress, and it isn't easy to find in the dark.

I didn't want to be found. The blood on my hands and on my lips screamed murder that I couldn't deny. I stayed in the darkness, and Gabriel and the others had no idea where I'd gone. In the darkness with black wings dripping crimson, I knew a deity was laughing at me.





 
 
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