HEY GUYS, STILL NOT DEAD! I will continue to struggle onto infinity! Anyways, I hope this chapter reaches you guys in good health, a lot has happened for me, and I hope it will continue to happen in such ways. Anyways, enough of me, let's get to you guys!
Darkares12: Well I did start writing this when I was in high school, so that alone should help. Besides, he was one of the first characters I'd written, including the first step into the horror Genre. I hope I can get better at writing to him as time goes on, so please keep reviewing!
Lushikatomikyarimimo: That is a long name! Awwww, why thank you, I hope this will be another great chapter!
Benjadu22: Well now it's time for another miracle! I've had the idea of them being like that for the longest time. Ven being more of an Efficient Spellsword, and Mors being an all powerful Juggernaut. And yeah, Mors definitely has a ton of Charisma.
Nightbringer325: Hey man, glad someone caught it. I just wanted to do a little switcheroo with how they act towards others.
Son Kar: Oh yeah, almost all the Fromsoft characters are absolutely broken when it comes to them just being people. Most Hunters are believed to be able to survive most attacks that would kill anyone else instantly, like a living Berserker Armor. Oh definitely complications. While it would be incredible to write it, it would also take so much! Their pretty lore is heavy anyway, so it would be hard to combine all four. Thankfully, I got some ideas.
The Good Hunters: Both are fair points honestly, and I understand that. However I'm looking for more balance and near 'And I mean this understanding what the two of them are' human in comparison. While it would be a blast to watch them always do everything, it wouldn't be as interesting; Both in the way of reading and writing. Also, fun fact, if you leave the Moon Presence fight, you can actually get the Burial Blade from the Fountain. Just as long as you kill Gehrman. Stats were just a thing I did for fun, because Optimization kinda blows except when you're playing the game. As for insight, I will relinquish that as well. I don't believe they would know about Ozpin immediately, as insight is simply 'Inhuman Knowledge.' But I'll see what I can do. Thank you for the Review guys, I hope you continue to read.
Alright, that's all of the reviews. Sorry but I gotta be quick, the Time Quangle comes out soon!
Oh! How could I forget!
Special Shoutout to Crimson Soldat! Dude is a fellow Dark Souls and RWBY enthusiast who has a RWBY and Dark Souls Central Crossover! I haven't had the chance to read it, but he has asked me for a special privilege that I had not expected. I wonder if you'll see it!
Anyways! LET'S GET IT STARTED!
Chapter 26
Journey to the South!
(Authors Note: I made a mention saying that Gleen would be West-ish in the last chapter, apparently not, its directly south.)
Mors
The sun now rose above the horizon, the shadows cast all the same against the thick branches of the Trees above. Yet they were no longer as long nor as large in the luminescent might of the sun above. The bird song became more sparse, and the animals that populated the woods at dawn began to go about their own daily survival. It was a world that, aside from the long and winding dirt roads, was relatively untouched. One might even consider it a gracious and pleasant hike across the great open forest…
If only my companions deigned to fill the forest song with topics of conversation, a sigh escaping from my lips. My attention absently turned to the two of them in full, each of them obsessively looking at the forest.
Miss Polendina, who after slowing down just a bit after many of the tree's roots had been pulled from the ground, took to simply looking. She had never once decided to turn her head to look around the ancient woods, and instead spun on her heels, time and time again. As if every single tree and creature was more marvelous than the last. The emerald eyes of the young girl both present, yet ever vacant in her head. As if while finding everything new, she merely just saw them. Gazed at them in study of some kind, while trying to understand them. The only time her eyes ever truly seemed to sparkle was when the sun hit them in just the right spot.
I who had fought many a human, demon, and god alike looked away from her. My very soul quivered at that thought, as I turned to the only thing I considered human around me.
His Knife was still between the fingers of his thin metal gauntlets, no longer spinning but resting comfortably between the two fingers. His single eye gazed fervently at the shadows, as if something would jump out at the same time it took his eye to move. The strange contraption of a blade in his other hand, hovering just a simple inch above the ground.
An unusual sigh escaped my mouth, seeing as how neither of them, not the strange girl nor the faux Gravelord Servant, would grant the world conversation. It was perfectly vexing, even as I stepped on another thick branch, cracking it in two. The loud snap echoed out, as the birds paused their songs, perhaps confusing me for a stalking predator.
So far, in the leisurely pace that we had set,we had encountered very few problems. None of which had risen over a couple of more trees that now had roots above the ground. A battle that had taken place nearly six times now, to which the girl had always acclaimed thyself to be "A-okay!".
Truly, the most interesting aspect of this adventure to behold, was the girls losing battle to many unmoving pieces of fauna. At the very least I wished it was a Possessed Tree, or even an Ent that sprang from the ground. Those could at least prove difficult, with the ever swinging vines that feigned a sense of intelligence. It would grant me the spike of adrenaline that I needed to stave the boredom for yet another hour, despite six already passing in short order.
Why will they not simply converse to fill the silence? Or perhaps share in words the wonder of the woods that I had seen too many times to count?
Yet another thick branch cracked harshly beneath my foot, the loud sound filling the annoyance of absolute silence. What else could be done about it? No enjoyment comes from initiating everything that I wish to speak of. Topics others bring to the fold were far more interesting then whatever else I could naturally conci-
My gauntleted hand shot out to grab its large ursine snout, any momentum it had gained from its short lumber over was quickly stopped without the smallest bit of effort. The grinding of its snout and teeth sounded like thunder on a cloudy day, followed quickly by the roar of the Ursa Major. Its spines bristled in contempt, as the pressure around my hand increased ever so gently, the loud sound of its fangs shattering against the steel.
I swung it into the closest tree, its thick spike and spines letting out one final crack, as it began to vanish in its usual cloud of black smog. The tree dented slightly inward, its bark now gone from its face with everything now stuck in its face. It had begun to groan louder than the fading Grimm, as if it could collapse at any second and fall to the floor. Yet, akin to many undead before it, stood tall in the ground, struggling ever onward… Or stillward, in this case…
I let out a small sigh, trying to relocate my thoughts. Our guide's eyes now staring at me, more curious than the bird that flew away, or the deer that scampered behind her. Hands in front of her cheeks, looking at me with the barest shine of Stars in her eyes. Perhaps she wished to start a conversation this time?
My head swerved the tiniest bit, and the young girl quickly jumped up and started to walk forward in an almost soldiers march. Returning to her normal navigational post, Venatores didn't even utter a single word or give a wayward gaze. He, however, began to trek away from the two of us, next to the ever fading smog of what used to be a Beowulf with a dagger that began to fall from its eye.
The sigh escaped from my lips, like the other forty times in this foreboding wood, as the girl and Hunter quickly continued forward as if nothing happened. The both of them appeared far too shy or sullen to even begin any rousing form or communication.
Even such simple talks of the perfect sunlight would cheer me up at this very moment, as it beat softly against my neck…
How ever did that Sun Knight do it?
Bleak and ominous was the Fort that lay before me. It held not the ruin of the ages that had plagued this world, instead it flourished in its dark and cruel glory. Its single gate opened for the first time in what could only be counted with the hollowed souls that have failed to access. As if the Gods had not granted us trial enough.
It was of simple brick foundation, one that defied its expectations, as it reached ever closer to the sky. As if trying to compete with the very gods that had placed themselves atop the mountain, claiming that world as their own. All as I stood there watching the stone, as if it would change the complexities that trick the mind, the enemies that stab into my heart…
The experiments that did nothing but destroy the soul.
Serpents… half dragons…
All to blame by the hands of the Son of Gwyn, whose name lay stricken from the annals.
A place that had killed me… time, time, time, time, time and time again. It bore on the imbecilic how many of these Abominations had simply gotten in my way. How I wish I could destroy them, end their pitiful and painful existence with just a wave of the sword. How I wish this journey, so close to an end, would finally grow easy, as the world continued to molder and expire with us in its grasp.
"Such trials have certainly grown dull for my taste." The bronzed knight spoke the design on his chest making it appear as if his arms were crossed, even with his hands dutifully placed on his weapons. The ever witty and uninterested tone bored into my mind, ready to spark whatever anger I had within me. My hands clawing at the air, fire beginning to spread within my heart and mind. "If you will excuse me."
Without even an explanation, the man turned away from the bonfire. His steps were small and precise, as he simply went into the church's courtyard. Each silent step made the fire cool down, as it meant that he walked further and further away from my very location. The sounds now filling the hall, now that the putrid air had left away.
The crackling of fire that could soothe any… and the thick sound of a hammer upon the anvil. All coupled together, with the sounds of warmth and laughter.
"The lot of youse." A giant man spoke from below, his hands no doubt still upon the hammer even as he talked. Working and working and working, tirelessly without end as I saw the figure in my mind. Not to sleep nor to rest, a feat that earned him and him alone the body of a warrior. Simply hammering away the rhythmic melody that played in my ears, and softened the hearts of all warriors. His face was old and forever focused, even as he laughed without his hand ever swaying. Hair across his entire face like an unruly cloud, barely able to contain it in a simple band of leather. "So ready to head forward without a clear head. Ye should rest by the fire… let the warmth mend as I mend the arms and armor."
"Nonsense!" The Sun Knight spoke from below as well, his tone never changing after the brutal failures that we had endured in that fortress entrance, let alone at its very end. Brimming like the visage that was displayed so prominently on his chest. "It was a simple bump in the road, nothing another try cannot fix!"
The simple bump in the road, one that he so vehemently never spoke of, and the reason we were taking this break as it was. The stone and plants beneath me scorched black at the barely contained anger within me. One that made me wish to throw myself within the flame without a moment's thought! If only the fool had not opened the chest, we would have at least made it to the Ladder!
"I've warned you of those obstacles, Knight of Astora." The Blacksmith continued in the distance. The same admonishing yet cheerful tone he gave to everyone. As if he was a figure in our lives that had come from the grave or beyond it. Such is what happens to a man with the drive and a comfortably ceaseless goal. "Calm yourself. Patience and repair takes time, as should you."
"Mayhaps" The knight responded, resigned to listen to the wisdom of his others. Yet so fitfully ready to ignore my own… the world around me continued to be scorched. Perhaps Andre would like to use me as one of his furnaces? At least then it would give me a place to be my own. Away from the voices I had come to know. "What would a knight be without his faithful smith?"
"Knowing you," The older man said without delay. His words were punctuated by the sound of ringing metal. Uncaring for those whose emotions boiled within them like a vibrant damnation. "Stabbed and robbed."
*snap*
"Can you stop?"
The voice penetrated deeply into my mind, as if it were a great breeze that banished the misty memories even as we walked. Turning to the Hunter at my right, his gaze no longer shifting to the shadow of woods. His singular eye staring at me in some form of discontent.
What could I have done?
"Pardon?" I managed to get out, my sword swing off of my shoulders and into my hand. The stare increases in its potency.
"You keep stepping on every fallen branch that crosses your path." The Hunter explained with a certain tiredness that continued to settle in his tone. "It's attracting them."
I looked backward from the straight path we managed to take, a number of branches now snapped in twain. Each of them varying from the smallest of twigs, to the grandest of branches.
Nothing from the woods stood a chance against my might.
"Ah…" I turned back, staring at the chest of the Hunter. While nothing had truly vanished from his chest, one of the knives had begun to dull on this trip. Though it was only the single one, it did not bode far too well for him in the next couple of hours. "I suppose so…"
Venatores nodded, returning to his usual routine of abject silence. Simple and to the point as per usual, as yet another branch came into our path.
I felt the faintest smile tug at my lips, as my grieves stomped down onto the branch. Without even looking, I knew he was staring at me. Before words even left his person, I had already begun..
"There is a simple solution to it…" My voice echoed out, my head turning to face the dangerous glare of the single eyed partner. "Stop thyself from being annoyed."
Come now, not even you can stay quiet from this!
His single eye rolled in his head, as he turned forward. Pointed words already bearing their edge before they even were released, ready to strike at any point in time. "You could do the simple thi-"
His mouth hung open for the briefest of seconds, the horror building within my breast that I had not felt in ages. The next word from his mouth grinded any possible conversation to a simple halt.
"No."
The fire grew hotter upon my hand with indignation, sputtering out quickly as a hand went to my head. Of course the ever silent hunter would.
"Venatores," I sighed out, looking to the ground as it moved past with uncaring foliage. No impediment in any way or form. With such dull scenery, I had no choice but to turn back to my partner, who continued to ignore my words with practice. "At the very least try to converse! Your pointed refusal shall turn such an adventure sour."
His head shook ever so slightly, turning forward in our path. The singular eye settling on our current guide.
"Penny." The words drew the girl from her saddened look at a fallen tree, expression transforming into one of questioning. The time between them is far too few to be called natural… yet he never truly seemed to notice. "How far until we reach our destination?"
Flame engulfed my hand once again, a feeling that this was going to once again become a habit. The fleeting anger of bearing witness to such ignorance continues to grate at my very soul. At the very least he was now initiating conversations with some… one.
"We will arrive in four days, three hours, and thirty tw- three minutes if we keep our current pace!" The strange girl spoke without a second between the answer, now looking at the stray cloud in the sky. It was like looking at a child who had never experienced the world. "Not accounting for delays or breaks!"
"Thank you." He responded simply, turning his head to a now moving shadow. His words were as sharp and deft as the knife he threw into the stray Grimm's throat. "I'm not talking the entire way there, to satisfy your boredom."
"Tis nothing as simple as boredom." I lifted my sword to my shoulders, staring around for any other creature that crossed my path. Whether it be from the tops of trees or their shadows, or perhaps even the unseen depths. "Our escapade will be long. If nothing else, we should grow closer, learn of our separate walks of life better."
Venatores' head shook ever so slightly as he stepped over once more to the fading corpse. Losing some ground as my steps remained unswayed by anything in the world.
Of course, by the time I turned back to him, he would have returned with his silent ways. My hand reaching out once again, the flames within it sputtering to life with the excitement of something new to incinerate. The screams of the dull creature drowned by the screams of fulfillment.
"The more we talk," The Hunter began, his tone tired as I turned to him. His fingers placed pressure between his eyes, the dagger placed between his free fingers. as his free one reached for a long necked bottle. "The more we attract."
Ah, was that what he was worried about? The onslaught of Grim that might await us?
T'was not an unfounded worry. Even with the simple Grimm that continued to come after us, even those with peerless skill would be overcome with numbers. Even so, the results rarely remain different.
After all…
"I believe Professor Porter put it best in his classes." My hand lifting into the air, a stray finger pointed into the sky, my eyes closed. Remembering that portly adventurer, Though his tales held much to be desired, it would not be fruitless! " 'The Grimm's sense of smell and hearing are merely secondary to the emotion you hold at that moment.' "
"So truly." I stated, a small smirk upon my face, as the girl turned to look at me. The bird song that began to play quiet ever so softly. My focus now turns from the conversation at hand, to the surroundings. "It is emotion that attracts them, not sound."
"That is correct!" The girl yelled out, the smile most likely on her face as she continued to walk forward. Not turning around in the slightest despite the cacophony of noise vanishing into the forest.
"Thank you Miss Polendina!" My gratitude was merely automatic, as I listened to the world around me. No doubt once more distracted by the ever changing wood that she explored.
There was no sound, just the feeling of danger that persisted in the air. My small gripe for excitement to finally be fulfilled, even for the shortest of seconds. Even this mild exhilaration and anticipation brought back such simple pleasures of life. Ones that can only be felt deep within any form of adventure, or battle.
Even so…
I saw it through the trees, expertly hidden despite the sheer contrast in its colors. In spite of such overwhelming odds, it slipped ever so slightly out of sight. It's conjoined bodies and heads waiting in the same anticipation I felt… or perhaps nothing at all
It would be best to grab at one end and pull. It grants them quite the opportunity, at the very least for the other.
"They are still animalistic." The Hunter spoke up, his words empty of the tone he had before. His attention was at his feet, as a dim shadow began to rise higher upon the ground. Despite this, he was still rather calm, as he pulled two knives from his belt. "They track, hear and smell. Just cause their expertise is in emotion, does not mean they have no other methods…"
All of this, while Miss Polendina turned on the heel of her foot. Her glorious emerald eyes dimmed as she looked up, the weapons that held no place in appearing doing so in an instant. "Oh."
Like a silent signal, I lept to the side feeling the hardened ground and roots across my back, a loud crash sounding from behind me. It hissed in some form of emotion. I was once more on my feet, dashing to where I last saw the stalking creature.
The moment I took my twentieth long stride, it struck like a flash towards my side. It's two fangs as thick and tall as the average adult ready to pierce into my flesh. Whether it be with some form of poison or just to harm myself, I didn't know or care: It simply did not matter in the slightest.
My hand grasped a single ivory blade of the white shadow, as I felt the ground buckle beneath my feet. The sound of the earth only overpowered by the scrape of bone on metal, my gauntlet grasping at its base.
The creature was simply a snake, its head as large as the entirety of my body, with a body hidden in the brush of the trees. I knew its name, Taiju, yet the classification remained ever so out of reach.
I looked down, seeing the tip barely above the thick hide that made up my side. The shadow bucked and writhed its long tube-like body, as it tried to resist the Herculean might I grasped its fang with. The tooth gave way more than I, as it bent, shifted and cracked in its pink gums.
I suppose Venatores was, even partially right. A sigh escaped from me, as I moved my blade to my mouth. The thick metal was harsh and painful in my teeth, though dulled beyond belief as I grabbed its lower jaw with an equally harsh grip. The thrashing grew as I did, crashing into the trees and ground with the vigor that only pain and helplessness could breed.
Oh, but what to do as the sun still descends? I pulled backwards as I thought, taking very large steps as it continued. The thrashing began to grow limited as its contrasting body began to grow further apart. Like a rope going taunt, it gained less and less room to thrash about, as trees dented and cracked alongside the ground.
At the very least, I would have to consider to thy partner. Yes the trip would slow to the crawl we walk to it. However, such truths must be admitted.
The Fang broke off with a sickening crack, a loud screech of pain resounding through the wood. Echoing through each of the trees, the birds took flight away from the creature. Harmonizing with a far more guttural death throe a distance away.
Ah, perhaps they have slain its other half? My left hand dropped the lesser fang, which had already begun to fade from the world.
As if finally realizing its opportunity, the dim serpents opened wider, beginning its descent into my side once more. This time with the renewed vigor of death closing in on it. A sigh escaped my lips as the now freed hand quickly reached for the incoming snout. Already preparing the necessary step backwards.
Oh well.
Twas truly fun for that single second at its encounter.
A single moment was all it took to spell its end, as my hand grasped its snout with great might, pulling it with all my might. Each side colliding with its other with my added strength. Whatever other bone it had in its mouth shattered with a loud sickening crack. It could no longer scream in pain, the shattered bones deforming its once perfect jaw. The red lantern eyes glowing in shock, as if unable to comprehend what had happened.
I grabbed the blade in my mouth, immersed in my own disappointment as the blade swung horizontally. Splitting the shocked serpent head perfectly down the 'middle' of its damaged skull. Porcelain white scales transformed into a thick gray smog, as the radiant blade penetrated through with the grace unbefitting something so large.
With that, rather large, disappointment of an altercation I restarted my trek forward back. Looking absently at the now fading body.
At the very least, it brought a bit of stimulation to this dull adventure. It should plactate me, for the moment.
A soft breeze blew past with every step, I could tell from the rustling of the leaves above. Each and every stray dancing leaf that blew past my vision.
There was no relief, no tingle up the spine… nothing… nothing, from the tips of my toes, to the crown of my head. Empty of any feeling, outside of knowing where everything was. Even the very steps, though knowing the angle of any trepidation ahead, nothing.
Anything outside of true magnitude… t'was little more than nothing.
The sensation was empty… nonexistent…
Ugh, perhaps I admit fault and just continue to try? At least this dreaded curse had not affected anything with my own speech, or enjoyment of it.
But how does one get him to talk…
Perhaps it would be best to search for other people to speak with?
No… best let the girl remain to herself. To many unknowns.
Hah…
Stuck in silence for the rest of the journey.
"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry!"
At least something appeared to be happening.
Through the trees I could see the two of them, each standing tall against the fading creature. One like a whirlwind, dancing around the solitary figure, whose arms were simply crossed. His eyes are impassive, in turn gazing around the wood instead of the girl. His one hand held up, as if to placate her from any form of worry.
What was she apologizing for? Her green eyes hold the right amount of sorrow and guilt, yet not contained enough to seem truly real. The shiver returned just from spying her attempts at emotion, doubling when the shadowed gaze of his eye landed upon my two.
"Yes, yes," My gaze turned to the sun, it's iridescent now waning to the West ever so slightly from its pinnacle. Though that action remained unable to hide my disgruntled tone, as I took the steps forward to continue on our pilgrimage."Thou was proven correct."
As I spoke those words, Venatores merely stared with his ever present half heartedness at such display. Though I could see through such masks with generous practice, it remained ever elusive. His arm stretched out, and eye started with its fluctuating state of being.
"It's alright." His gaze moved between the two of us, as if answering both. His other knife now placed upon his side, ready for whatever else may come. "Let's con-"
"Where are you guys from?" The girl spoke instantly, no longer overcome with the guilt and sorrow she had only known seconds ago. Everything shifted from the dimples in her face, to the brightening of her eyes. Cute and innocent, after being so distraught not even a second ago.
I had half a mind to split her down the middle, and reveal it for whatever it truly was. It would be simpler than this continuing state of conniptions she forced upon me with every movement.
Yet the child appeared oblivious to my own thoughts. Looking between the two of us with large innocent eyes, that portrayed nothing but an empty emerald hue.
"That's what people normally ask," The girl spoke, the expression on her face slowly dying down, as if finally realizing the weight of my gaze. If it weren't for the shawl covering my visage, she would know my clear distaste. A soft and nearly squeaky sound escaped her lips, that finished her sentence. "Yes?"
I began to take a step forward, my hand quivering with the foreign pretender before me. It could be simple. Though the maiden was proven better than her appearance, she held no comparison to the Lord of Light himself. At my own grasp, she would be naught but another fading corpse in the passage of-
It was a small hum of noise that caused me to stop, turning to its source.
It was a scene I rarely had the opportunity of viewing. One that spat in the face of the man's usual stoney facade, as well as my constant efforts to crack them these past few months. A vexing anger filling into my bosom at the mere sight of it, in spite of its coverings.
Venatores was smiling. Not a full blown grin that split his face in twain, but a simple uplift at the corner of his mouth. Twas akin to Night and day, as the shadows seemed to fade from his face ever so slightly. Less like the porcelain statues, and more closely to the human he was truly with the trifle of amusement.
The flame in my chest burned with an inferno of indignation. Not just that, but from the illumination that now spread across his face, twas not only my chest that burned with it.
Something charged from behind, the thick steps of yet another ludicrous creature who ran headlong towards Death. Though Nito, now gone from this world, could not collect his bounty, it was mine own duty to act as his proxy.
Though, I did not have to do much, as it burnt to cinders with a simple touch. As if all the efforts of months of bitter work, burnt with the display of ease that was presented.
"Yes…" The Hunter spoke with a still vexing amused tone, his hand blocking the vision of Flame that came off me in waves. Showing ignorance in favor of the inhuman creation that stood before me. "However, most don't shift between emotions as you do."
"O-oh, r-right. I-I was just so… excited?" She nodded to herself, as if listening to the words, wondering if they were true. Beyond a certain degree of peculiarity, yet Venatores didn't even give the slightest hit of suspicion. In fact, he simply nodded with that same nostalgic smile.
"A small port town." The flame grew hotter in the sheer indignation, yet cooler in the pursuit of knowledge. Such grand disparity further growing the flame, as it burned with a might of such magnitude that I took effort in halting it. The hunters stride taking him forward. "You wouldn't know it."
The response was quick as a Silver Knights Arrow, the girl on the verge of skipping across the rooted expanse. As if she had not already destroyed the life of trees enough as is.
"I utterly disagree!" Was it's response in the same cherry tone she always held, dining in my ears with a pure sense of dissatisfaction. As I followed absently in time with them, my thought invaded the mind as the Accursed Dark Wraiths did with New Londo.
Four months of hard work, completely obsolete in the face of such a creation. Nay, twas not such a thing in this world ever discovered yet that could make the pariah of Team Eclipse so forward and joyful.
Something is amiss, be it within the stained mind of Venatores Luna, or the faulty creature that deemed itself Penny Polendina.
Perhaps now I was beginning to understand Solaires distaste for the Carrim Knight, far before his theft of the Fire Keepers Soul.
A wry smile reached my lips, one that was far warmer than any flame I had felt recently. Even in death, I still learn of you my dear friend…
"My sun… my precious sunlight… why have you taken it."
Even that which is better off not remembering… but in turn learning from. A sigh leaving the husk of a once living corpse that was mine self.
The fire died in mine thoughts and form, doused by the ever cruel reminder of a good man's insignificant end. Despite taking place an eternity ago within the memory of the world, it would forever be fresh upon my mind. A wound that would never heal, even through the oppression of the Dark Sign, who wished to take it.
Though Undead I may be, I would dare not ever forget that day in the City of Izalith for many reasons. Twas all I could do, even with the assured end upon mine heart.
My head shook with a vigorous strength, pushing away the thoughts. Even if it was just the lingering shadow that never truly faded from the soul.
A grunt managed an escape, as my gauntleted hand slapped against my cheek. Bringing the dulled pain to my mind even for something as simple as a warning. Not the chill of metal, nor the softness of clothes, nor the supple leather. Just the simple pain that I had overcome time and time again.
Calm and brighten yourself Mors Ignis! The flames of anger or tragedy shall not shackle you this fine journey. This too soon after all, with naught a true opponent in sight. Even more so against ally's, no matter their mysteries, who have sought naught but aid.
Of course, such hidden secrets must be kept in mind, my sight shifting to the girl, who had now
Oh yes… the dull feeling of boredom quickly overcame me yet again, as I took steps after the two ahead of me. The journey fraught with danger and discovery now proving to be a simple illusion…
Well, perhaps if such conversations are now upon us, it would be prudent to keep them as such.
"Now you dain yourself to speak?" My voice echoed out jokingly, causing the hunter in question to pause. His head turned as he continued forward on his march. "Tell me, must I make use of Gwyndolin's gift to transmogrify to the fairer sex for such simple conversations?"
His single eye looked to the blue sky above, any form of expression hidden behind the tattered cloth across his face. Yet another knife pulled from beneath his seemingly endless coat. Perhaps it was crafted by the Legendary creator of my very own Bottomless Box?
"That is not the reason." The hunter spoke, his tone Simple and controlled. Which was when he was simply hiding something behind it. It appears amusement was sinful in his mind. "But very well, I concede."
"How generous." I replied, the sarcastic whip of flame escaping my mouth. Though the cloth adjourning the Hunter's mouth moved ever so slightly when I spoke. Ah, the frigid face grows ever warmer. I turned back to the strange girl, whose eyes darted between the two of us, a sense of confusion clear, however ingenuous. "A simple town long lost."
"… oh…" The girl without humanity spoke, her tiny fingers bumping into the other. As if to show how uncomfortable she truly wasn't in this moment, brining upon memories of ages past. "I-I'm from Atlas… y-you know the one, yes?"
"Certainly." I spoke, unable to put an image to the front of my mind. All I managed to hear of it was from Lady Schnee and her own 'Castle Upon the Sky.' As many of the people around her say. As if Anor Londo was returned to us… nonsense.
"I will admit to a modicum of curiosity." The Hunter spoke, continuing his stride forward across the near barren chaos that the foul serpent had wrought. "They are the ones that made the Paladins, yes?"
"Classified." The immediate response came out, too quick to have any thought out into it. Which explained the very quick jump, and placating hands as she turned. "I-I mean, we made it but, after what happened…"
"Secrets must be kept," I spoke up, the girl turning with a bright Hope towards my words in near desperation. It caused me to turn my eyes away, looking towards the Hunter, who gazed onwards in vigilance. "I suppose."
"Absol~utley!" The girl agreed without a second of thought. Returning to her strange walk, staring at the world without a care. "General Ironwood is very guarded, especially when it comes to equipment Atlas makes."
Ah yes, nothing more important than the secrets kept from others, an ancient bitter taste rising. Truly, nothing like lies and politics to fatten one's pockets, self and above all else, ego.
The necessity of sin. Just another flavor of man, one that tastes no better than the rot and despair, spread by God and man alike. Tangled forever in stained and defiled acts, whose only redemption lies in the Pardoners of Velka.
"Can I ask a question?" The young lady pivoted from the subject, her eyes solely on me. Her curiosity was blatant, as she continued her floated walk across the woods. The song of birds returning, now that the threat lay to dust.
"Tis only fair." I nodded, my stance relaxing ever so slightly.
"Who's Gwendolin?" My step faltered ever so slightly, just as a thin shadow swooped from the trees above. It's white crow-like mask, aiming at my helm with the speed of an eagle.
Right as a sword flew through the air into its spine, leaving the damned Grimm to fall uselessly. Bowing my head, as the accursed dust faded into nothingness. The thin sword retracted like magic, as the girl's green eyes continued to stare. Even Venatores stared with his single eye, curiosity springing to his eyes.
Hm… I suppose it's a harmless question. No matter how pointless it may appear,
"Gwyndolin," I spoke, looking skyward for any other bird that may yet appear, thinking back to the grandest of illusionists. "Within the confines of mine town, we celebrated gods of all sorts."
"Gods?" Miss Polendina spoke, her eyes sparkling with the hints of interest. It sparkled so much that her eyes seemed to gain that ebony flame, however little and false. A smile tugging upon thine lip, the discomfort ceasing to be for the moment.
"I can assume you are not one of them." Venatores stated, no doubt remaining in his usual state of search.
At least he understood.
"As it stands," I began, looking at the streams of gold that were wasted through the limbs of trees. Bathing the world in golden glow, and allowing them to join together within the beautiful warmth. "The closest I have ever been to belief was in an Order of Knights."
"Yet even if I did," That golden glow turned to silver, souring any feeling I had at that moment. The trickery that took place in the Ages past. "Such piety would not extend to the Dark Sun Gwyndolin."
"Dark Sun?" One spoke, the Wonder in her voice akin to stars, as the gaze of the forest turned upwards towards the ever shining line. Her gaze unblinking even in its gross incandescence. "But the Sun is always bright?"
I could only manage a grimaced laugh at the child-like answer of the creature that was so human-like. The distrust and alien nature still at the very forefront of my mind.
Yet a small laugh echoed out in the wood, alongside a hideous squawk of a bird fading to dust. No hint of discomfort, just purely entertained by what was spoken.
"I believe it's in reference to the moon." Pulling the knife from the bird, looking at the knife now planted within the ground. A dissatisfied hum filling the air, as yet another knife vanished into the cloak. Just as the girl began to look at a shattered moon. The darkened shadow striking even in the brightest of afternoons.
Especially as the Grimm watched from above, the moon looking striking within their presence.
Nevermore we're perched upon the treetops, staring down with a sea of ruby eyes. An ocean of shadow and blood overtaking the verdant life, lying in wait. Each of varying sizes, akin to how a family of one thousand would look. The largest one, standing at the very top of the trees, was as tall as a Silver Knight. Staring from the distance with a piercing emptiness at us, as if waiting.
At least it didn't have a bow.
"I see…" The young girl spoke, her hand reaching to her chin. The pack on her back opened as if it were made from Sorcery, ten swords springing into action as if puppeteered through the air. Joyfully flying in wait, as Nevermore began to descend like a thick cloud. "All civilizations tailor the moon to be a trickster, a regal figure or a calamity. Is it the same for yours?"
Hmm… I suppose all roles do apply for the Secret Keeper of Anor Londo. The crow-like creatures quickly came before us.
It would be wasteful to let them get hurt. Best to let them attack from the side, as I take all onto me. Venatores and the Polendina girl had better options for attacking such creatures, yet defenseless without proper protection.
As such-
Within a single bound I ran forward, the swarm showing lack of surprise. Not from wisdom, but the simplest lack of care. My sword bared like the fang of the ancient wolf it depicted, ready to strike.
-T'was my right, honor and duty to be the vanguard of this team.
My sword crashed into their tiny bodies in a large downward arc, as the Grimm maneuvered away from the thick smog left behind of their kin. Only their minuscule glowing eyes shone through the cloud, as many more came through, converging on my body. Latching onto my gauntleted limbs, slamming their beaks into the titanite reinforced metal and leather with the harsh sound of cracking bones.
Yet they never stopped, even as their beaks and claws shattered against me. Their primitive brains thought it was beneficial, even as I felt the pain of insect bites across my body. Manageable, as my body turned in instinct ready for the next hazardous swing. My hand free in case the might of Izalith might be of use in this murder.
"In a manner of speaking!" I roared with a groan of pain from such a numerous flock, my sword lifting from the ground. A refreshing minute of conversation was nothing short of invigorating, why must it be stopped for such simpletons! As the Murder of Nevermore continued their assault on mineself. Though I could only see the orbs of red and blackened bodies, my blade punctuated each and every sentence with a sickening crack! "She was the last born of the Lord of Sunlight! Head of the Blades of the Dark Moon! Twas she who wrote its laws, and stood as its crafter! For the protection of the Gods, their city, and her family!"
The blade of Artorias swung through the air upwards in a simple arcs, even one handed the Nevermore could not stand against it. Tearing through them as if they were naught but wisps in the wind. Destroying them all without much effort or care, while the others no doubt dealt with it from the sides.
Until it crashed against something hard as steel. The cloud cleared away from the sound as if it was an intense gust of wind. My eyes widening, as I look to my side.
"S-Sorry!" The young girl spoke to me, her eyes wide with interest as well as panic. Three of her magical blades behind her, and in her front. Her head swerved at an accelerated rate, as if she were trying to attack everything that moved.
In spite of that awkward visage, the blades danced in a marvel of a sight. All ten of them destroyed the Grimm as if it was a Continuous Homing Soulmass… Big Hat Logan would turnover in his grave at this physical fraudulence.
"Darkmoon?!" She screamed out, still trying her best to fight as more and more began to surround her. As if trying her best to emulate us in every way, even as more Nevermore came into her sights through the blades. Each of them clawing into her aura, without even a care! Perhaps even more!
Foolish girl, at least let the one in armor take the brunt!
My hand clenched against my blade, as the other lifted upwards. A spark of irritation entered me, as it alighted the fire within my hand. My eyes never waver from the back of the fake girl's head, the smallest of irritations swallowing my thoughts!
I was not meant for spell casting, even the single spell I could learn was for more dangerous scenarios. This spell was in case of far more powerful and larger Grimm in an area! To the point where I even used a ring to obtain it!
"Move!" The other voice sounded, as if fate itself spurned me forward with the voice of a Hunter.
I had hoped to save this!
Even with those thoughts, my legs spurned me forward. Through the Nevermore, each of them splayed against the metal and leather, unable to find purchase. Grabbing the girl within my one hand, as another reached into the earth.
As fire unleashed itself upwards, a mockery of the ancient spell that burned dragons within the air. Twelve thick and heavy torrents of flame jumping into the air. The Serpent-like creatures joyfully consumed the tiny birds as they set a light. The harsh bird cries filled the air, as they retreated to their Allie's.
Just as more fire rushed out of the center of these creatures, more and more screams filled the air. My ears and eyes pierced at the light and sound that suddenly filled the air. Shock and awe filled me, as I looked at my hand in remembrance.
My fire was certainly strong, but… this effect was too far spread for this spell. The darkened cloud turned into a great natural disaster, Waves and arrows of flame that flew away from the crowd, before succumbing to its brutality. Fading into ashes before they could even reach the ground, the forest forever painted black and gray as more and more began to fade.
Just as a voice rang out to all.
"The last bit of light in a crescent moon," I turned right around to see him, standing there. Unscathed by any bird, and holding within each of his hands an urn with glistening oil and a bottle with a rag. Quickly putting them away without a thought as he stared forward, my eyes widened in surprise. So that explains the power. "The final night before absence and transformation."
The gaze was impassive, not looking down at us but in turn looking at the birds. More and more falling to the earth, as he only gazed. His words in my mind repeated over and over again.
For a second, I could see him at the Gates of Anor Londo. The moon shedding its light in the absence. Blade ready to plunge into the chest of sinners, as words spilled from his mouth, the blade turning a vivid violet.
For wherever day shall not reach, we shall smite on its behalf.
For her will is ours, and our oath and deeds to her.
Should Light vanish from the Kingdom, kindled by the passing Flame…
Let Vengeance guide our Blades.
Even as I simply thought those words, the golden rays turned silver and bleak. The shadows across the wood grew dark and cold, as paranoia filled my mind in spite of safety. For something sought me within the shadow, as I stand abandoned by the merciful Queen of Sunlight.
The rite of the Darkmoon Blade. A miracle, as much as an oath. A sinister pledge that set Man against Man, in the name of gods.
All to protect a lie that long fled the halls of Anor Londo.
"You would have fit nicely amongst its peers." It was the compliment I could muster, as I stared around. Penny lifted herself off the ground as well, the bland smile across her face as she looked around at the charred wood, smoking but thankfully not on fire. A rather different story would have taken place if I had used the Spells full might.
Still, such a waste. It will retain a large part of its power, but not its full might. Such was the only benefit of the Bonfires, now lost with its source. Such a loss…
That was certainly a failure of teamwork if I had ever seen it. Mayhaps even felt it? I'll have to check on that. Perhaps next time communication would be a pleasant and helpful reminder. After all, we had only just introduced ourselves. For I had forgotten he had those, in spite of myself.
I looked up one last time, staring at the charred tree line. The leaves of the wood turned black, as the fire destroyed it little by little. Thankfully, it appeared strong and lively. The forest would incur some damage, but ultimately such damage should be minimal.
Now what to do with the remaining Grimm. Its long wingspan allows it to rise into the air, it's red eyes never leaving my person. Uncaring to the carnage below me, as it left leisurely to the open sky.
One stared at me, with its beady red eyes of death and carnage. Taking flight into the air, as if its friends had not died within its sight. But then again, perhaps it held no such connection to others of its own ilk.
"Any injuries?" My voice echoed out, looking at yet another ruined part of the woods. The sound of animals returning yet again, as if an Ode to our victory, in spite of its visage.
"I have sustained no damage!" The young girl spoke out, the dancing blades behind her standing before her. Her eyes stared at the many blades, inspecting their quality, before they flew without even a gesture of any kind. Her march continued without a second thought.
I then turned to the silent Hunter, his gaze inspecting everything he had used in that fight. A slight relaxation took over him, as he continued the march.
I nodded, putting the blade over the shoulder yet again. The routine was truly growing bothersome, it's saving graces only being that we were all at least speaking to one another.
"With that," I spoke, the heavy ladened footsteps growing a bit lighter as I turned to the silent Hunter. His eye turned to me, as if almost expectant of what was to come. "I believe it is now my turn to ask a question, yes?"
His gait was as silent as he, step after step before he broke it with a silent sigh. His eye closed in a near defeated sort of look, with bags underneath.
"So long as it isn't too personal..." Was all he said on the subject. My gaze never wavered from Venatores, who kept up his duty of watching the woods.
Hmm… it seems we have the need to make Camp soon. No, he would never agree to such, far too prideful… Well, that could be thought of later.
After all, however minor, it was his wish to share!
"HUZZAH!" A hearty slap filled the air, as my gauntleted hand hit the small of the Hunters back. A great wheeze sounding, as he launched a foot forward. Barely making it upon his feet, before he kept moving forward, his pride coming into play yet again. Now, all that remains is what I might ask.
So it can't be anything too personal, no matter his current cordial nature, it would turn on its head in a second… so, the best option was to keep it open ended… Ah!
"I would gladly wish to know more about who thou worked with." I spoke aloud, turning from my limited thoughts, the Hunters face as impassive as ever though he now seemed to only look straight ahead. Perhaps thinking of the many encounters that he had come across and making such decisions. "Anyone you wish."
The hunter immediately shook his head, almost as if in relief. His body relaxed ever so slightly, as the words came from his hidden maw.
"I've never worked with anyone." I paused in my steps, looking at the Hunter. His single eye never wavering from the distant destination. "Not long term anyway."
It felt as if my mind had wandered into the Abyss, nothing but the bleak darkness as I could only stare at my compatriot. His eyes did not waver in the least, as if empty to the shock of many. Unable to stare as I do at something so simple. I had thought it as something simpler, I had never thought such claims of Pariah stretched across his work as such.
Well… twas not as if I did not understand. Such things will happen, and can be handled with Tim-
"I have not either." The young girl spoke, my mind falling further into the dark. "This is my first mission outing!"
Such heresy reaches these depths!? They stand alone, waiting in the darkness not even understanding the depths of the sheer gall they dare tread in! I could understand the Girl, but Venatores?
Such an experience would be a Stain upon the Warriors of Sunlight. Who together strived forward arm in arm, a true Romanticism of what A Knight and Loyalty should truly be.
After all, for Undeads and Humans, it would be all they could ask for. To help aid in the constant struggle and torment they faced, never truly giving up… for it meant the end.
T'was what it meant to be Undead… to be Human. To find solace in others and strive forward towards whatever lay in the shadow of the future.
That has been the will of Humanity, ever since their making and their gift.
No matter the cruel darkness surrounding such lofty ideals.
So truly…
"Why?" It was all I could ask, it was all I could even formulate all I could think about.
What made a man deny the very nature of his soul?
His darkened eye turned to me, the deep purple turning abysmal Obsidian within the shadow of the tree line. Staring at me, as the forest grew quiet with him.
"A hunter works alone." Those four words were spoken as a simple fact of grand importance. His eyes never wavering, such was the resolve of the Humanity within his bosom… yet, there was something else… so deep within the shadow it lay obscured to all. "It's safer for all involved."
Safer for all involved… How characteristically vague of him. Sadly such an answer will remain as is, battling fiercely against my sheer want of understanding.
"That logic makes little sense." The girl's voice spoke, causing me to jump ever so slightly from its sudden appearance. The girl looked as confused as I currently am, spinning in her walk yet again. "Especially when you have friends right here!"
I nodded my head with her accurate words, the Hunters hand reaching towards its usual perch. That of course being the bridge of his nose, as a hand absentmindedly launched the thin knife. Stabbing its blade into the eye of the pig like Boarbutusk.
"There can be exceptions." The hunter said, striding to the mist bleeding boar. The tiniest twist of the knife was all it took to turn to mist. Staring at the fading mist for only a second, a somber air filling the wood. "As was one other, though he now stands lost to the tides."
Ah… so that is why you deny your very soul…
"Oh!" Th exclaimed out within a second, the sounds of stammering already beginning to fill the air. As if unable to process the sudden change within the atmosphere. A common trifle that even skilled artisans of speech would come across.
Thankfully, however forceful it might have been, I was one.
"I see." I spoke simply, my blade twisting in my hand already thinking of the words in my head. His attention no longer upon himself as he turned at my quick response. "He must've been quite the warrior to gain your respect."
It was almost like he was made of stone, with his limited reactions. Despite the promise of memory, the Hunter only turned the other way. Moving forward yet again, never to stop past his own goals. It looked almost as lonely as he was.
But his voice was clear at the very least.
"Simon the Harrowed was nothing short of exemplary." It was akin to a church bell resounding in solemn silence. Loud and clear, in spite of the lack of reactions. As if his very being went beyond the mundane understandings. Yet another mystery of Venatores Luna. "Though In different ways to you."
I could feel its tug on the side of my cheek, just simply smiling beneath my helm. It did not grant much to the others around me, but it was bright nonetheless.
The shell had been cracked, even with the simplest crack. Perhaps asking another time will be far more intresting.
Just as they were so long ago, however unknown and unimportant it was to History.
My sword lay across my back, as I went back to looking around. Nothing more needed to be done after all, as I took a step in time with the others within my group. Even the Young Girl seemed to follow in my steps. Her head once again on its strange and ever changing vigil. The uncanniness across her very existence wasn't enough to shock me, to aloft with the throes of accomplishment.
"So Penny." Venatores continued, his voice in the distance as I began to look high in the sky. The creatures of flight now take my every precedence of thought. The single creature that escaped now taking precedence over the simple game that we had begun to form. "You mentioned god-... of course."
I couldn't help but agree.
"What?" The girl spoke up, her actions unknown as I stared upward past the treeline. A thick shadow now begins to fall across my sight, as if Gwyns fury had come to shine away his light.
Except it wasn't a cloud.
"We are never doing this again." It was a bitter tone that could only come from my own partner, whose face was possibly still as impassive as a stone. The loud clang of metal filling the air, as the 'cloud' only seemed to grow. "The talking only draws them."
"Nonsense!" I spoke up, staring at the coming challenge. My hand reached towards my chin, as a thought had only just begun to enter my mind. The shape against the light of day became clearer as it gained its momentum. A bullet with a wind spans the size of most of the ancient flora around us. The memory of a true outset, however unwanted at the time, beginning. "T'was truly motivating!"
"Woah…" Was all the girl could say, no trace of fear in her voice even at what some would call a vision of death. Instead her strange sorcery came into existence, the swords pointed to the sky ready to fight. "This will be a much needed experience!"
Ah, a warrior after my own cloth. Even with its lack of humanity, I suppose gumption would be shared between all.
Yes indeed. Now then…
"Perhaps we will take it alive." I spoke, my sword finally entered a resting position on my back, both hands now free to do with whatever I desire. As I took a step forward, as the shadow began to take the light. Like an ancient wrath that seemed to blot out the sky, ready to strike at any sinner who dare oppose them.
"You want it alive?" The Hunter spoke without pause or retort. My attention still turned upward, lying in wait. My single hand outstretched and ready to blow into shards of melted flame, as the shadow seemed to grow. A godless screech filling the air, able to pierce a less man's ears.
But I simply stood there. Ready and waiting.
"Stupendous!" Miss Polendina spoke out, no doubt with stars in her eyes as she looked on. Her swords seemed to spread further apart, quivering with some form of anticipation. One that I myself felt in the palm of my hand. As if I could once again feel blood pumping into me. "How shall we go about it?"
Yes… that was a good question…
"Of course." I spoke up to the confused hunter, my other hand lifting up to be within his view. A single finger pointing right to my cloth covered neck. "Take the Neck,"
I did not even turn around, as I turned my full attention to the girl beside me. Looking at the same question she had only just spoken. Waiting for any form of advice.
"Penny, Take the Beak…" Was all I said, the girl's face immediately spread into a large and cheerful smile. Her eyes turned to what was no doubt the creature's disgusting maw, ready. "I will handle the rest."
The thick sound of crashing filled the entire Wood, my head turning to face the dismal creature in front of me.
Its thick wings seemed to crack the very wood around it. The creature came crashing down, too fast for even the great woods to get in its way. It felled trees with its simple presence, barely slowing down between every hit. Its claws stretched out with a near crazed glee, coming towards me. As if ready to wretch me from the earth and take flight with me…
Well.
Tis not a wrong thought.
With everything that I could resolve was done, I reached my hand outward as well. Hearing the movement of my fellow knights seemed to fill the room, right alongside such an evil screech. Its two claws, each of which were each in turn big enough to grab me into the sky itself. Each claw was akin to a series of lances, ready to stab into me at the very second.
Foolish creature…
I simply turned at the last second, its crimson red eye no longer able to see my form. Conceal behind its enormous wingspan. Already beginning to flap upwards yet again, repeating its hunting prowess as if it could do nothing else. The thick and heavy winds consuming my every sense, as the winds blew by on my skin and past my ears.
Twas I who fought the Black Dragon to a stand still, before even asking aid of the Grand Hawkeye.
As it began to fly past, I quickly grabbed onto its thick branch like a limb. Before my grip was even finished wrapping around the limb, I had felt two things come to life within my body.
What hope did you truly have?
The first that I knew was the searing yet numbing pain that sprouted from my shoulder outward. The thick sound of something cracking filled the air, as my grip remained on it. The sudden feeling of weightlessness, as I began to shake. The dull pain grew to near agonizing as I continued to hang from the creature's leg.
The dull throbbing filled my mind, as an unwanted smile came to my face.
The animalistic flame shot outwards, its thick and heavy limbs mimicking the furs of a great snarling beast. An intense feeling of satisfaction filled me, just as the bird began to let out its all consuming cry, my ears shaking from just its call. The body twisting and turning as I held onto its damaged leg, burnt and blown to ruin. Already misting away, with help from the dull orange glow.
Needless to say, I had not fallen. Even as the treeline grew closer and closer, I could quite easily hold on to its body. My other hand is already lifting upwards and grabbing on the feathers beneath its underside. Perfect handholds as I made as much progress with my ascent as this obstacle was before me.
It was far easier than using the scales of a dragon, that much was certain.
With that in the depth of my thoughts, the climb was nothing short of simple. Even as it began to ascend to an even greater heights, far beyond anything that even an Undead could survive.
Simply a reason not to fail. As my hand finally reached what would most certainly be its back.
"THIS IS STUPENDOUS!" Was all I could hear, both hands grabbing at the thick cluster of fu. One arm was a bit longer than the other, as I turned to my two teammates.
Both of which had done rather, as Ms. Polindina put it, a rather Stupendous Job!
Venatores was simply standing right at the center of his back, hand quickly removing the tattered scarf from his face. With that done, he put the scarf around his other hand, that which was holding his ill-kept scythe. His hand now warped around the very end of his scythe.
While its head was simply at its nape, No doubt cutting into its thick neck like a knife would to a giant. Annoying, painful and above all simply infuriating. The body thrashed about its entire body moving more like a serpent than a bird. Trying to buck us off of its back, like the common horse, which barely gave me pause. The Hunter seemed fine just as well…
The young girl…
All of her swords were embedded into the front beak, pulling it open with a frightening amount of strength for something so tiny. She stood there for all to see, her arms opened wide as if she was a young girl riding a horse. Admiring the entirety of everything that could be seen around her. As if more in wonder to the world, the very possible death that surrounded her without prejudice. The creature continued to let out its cry, as its beak seemed to grow even tighter, a snap being heard even through the rough winds.
… She seemed to be doing what she could.
Very well then, with all that in place.
I began to take step after step, my hand reaching forward as if I was some feral war hound. Each handful of feathers was just another long step forward that I had to make towards its spine. Venatores slim and unassuming coat smacking into my helm as I had at last arrived.
The constant flux of movement felt like a panicked heart beat from where I stood. Each change of its movement was so clear to me, like that of a mighty wyvern. So different, yet with their own similarities in the end.
Much like how the wings…
My hand descended downward without a second thought of mercy or hesitation. The 'flesh' breaking with a thick sound, like a rock crashing into the fragile pond. The destroyed substance immediately turned into a miasmic black fog that I could not see through… if it were not for the movement. The great beat of movement that had not paused even as it felt its body dissolve from sheer might, so close that I could feel it upon my pinky. My hand pushed forward, its gauntleted cover pushing through the creation. It was like pushing your hand through the congealed mud, trying to find the frog.
With that in mind, my other hand prepared its assault with a far more deadly and pinpointed accuracy. The balled up joint now in my hand, a clean and smooth surface, now always in constant movement.
"PENNY!" I screamed out, my head turning just as my hands clenched onto both sockets. The girl's expression had never faded, but seemed to almost perk up at the single mention of something for her to do. She may hold no amount of humanity in her…
But naught would change if I did not give something. "KEEP THE WINGS UP!"
"OF COURSE!" Was the response I heard, which was consumed by the powerful snap of both its wings crushed beneath my heavy grasp.
The cry was shill and thought consuming, shrill and loud to the point I could feel it piercing so deeply into my mind. A screech of pain… and a fear it had not yet known. The wingbeats stopped as it could no longer do anything but feel the pain. The wind begins to slow without the proper motion in play. My body taking the minor jolt of being lifted into the air, once again weightless.
Just as the bird seemed to dip right where it was supposed to.
Ha… if only Miss Rose and Lady Schnee listened to me during the test. Such a feat would have been met with nothing but sheer bliss amongst their rampant arguing.
Not to mention…
Just as the Nevermore started to glide across the sky. No longer bucking or moving in any bit of trouble. After all, it was certainly relying on us to keep it alive in that moment… and whatever other moment was to come.
But I could not focus on that.
The forest seemed to stretch on for miles, as if no man had ever come to claim it. Thick and vibrant that you could not even tell the leaves from the plains, so thick of that color and life. Steep and ice covered mountains, trying to reach for the expanse that we had just claimed, all still with a thick layer of green. All that coupled with a simply yet lovely noon blue sky, and it was simply what few could ever have imagined to see.
What wonders can be done with boredom.
With that done, my hands pulled from the bones and back of this enlarged creature. Staring into the ever growing sky. Sitting and watching as the world began to pass by me slowly and without any form of danger.
My two new teammates marched forward, the expression never changing on the child's face. Simply standing there in the present, enjoying whatever life could give to her, sitting down in a simple seated position. Everything she was doing was simple and to the point of whatever it thought it could feel, even with her blades embedded into the wings like that of a puppet master. Keeping it aloft, with the Grimms own need for life being right at the helm of everything.
Venatores was in his similar stoney visage, the scythe still at the creature's neck ready to strike, hand wrapped against it, as he stood. Whatever remaining of a cloak that he had sprawled across his body floating behind him in the breeze. He stood there staring… perhaps with the briefest hint of awe in his eye.
It was a view that could never be forgotten… the memory from earlier springing from the place I put it into my mind.
Jokes… how can such jokes be at our expense. We had failed! Failed! So close to the city of gods, all of which unraveled by the shrewdest of creatures within the fortress! How could they just laugh, as our cursed lives finally held the precedence of salvation. How could anyone simply just laugh, as failure after failure erases us from our own memory.
What had I forgotten… What had I given up?
The laugh was heavier than his hammer falls, and the steps that were currently taking place. A cacophony of laughter, as if they had only begun to realize their own foolishness. Everything began to broil more and more, as the stone beneath me grew hotter and hotter.
How could they laugh?
Just as his helm reached the stairs zenit-
H̶̢̲̙͖͎͔͚̿̀̿̽͝o̶̮͉̖̜͕̟̾w̴̱͓̠̬̄̚ ̵̤͎̜̄̅d̵̲͓̝̜͎̺̏̋̌͜a̴͙͖̺͎̅̈́̍̈r̴̮̻̙̱̠͌͆̈e̵̥̼͖͙̱̊ ̴̧̦̪͚̪̩̍̈́̉y̸̙̮̔̈́̆̆̿̂́ơ̶̘̮̜͇̟̼͜ǔ̶̧̺̖̙ ̴͚̤̀̄p̴̩͇͔̦̈́r̶̡͕͆̾̆̿̏́̓è̶̯͚͔͑͂͑t̸̡̻̭̃͝e̵̼̊̄̓ñ̶̡̢̦̬̰̎͜ḋ̷̳͕̙̫̻̉̋̈ ̴͙͎̥̳̹̤̰̑͗t̶̰̭̤̺͐͑̾͐͝͠͠ö̷̩̺̩̯̳́̆̈́͜ ̸̗̗̟̀c̶̢͕̮̥̗̰͆a̴̛̖͙͎͐̔͂͛̚r̶̝̱̬̲͍͇͒̿ë̶̻̲̲̆̈́̓̑ ̵̖̻̰͊̎́͒͌w̵̢̳̺̒͗̅̒i̸̢͕̯͑̐͆͗͜͜t̴̜͎̭̽̍͆̓͘͘͠ͅḧ̴̜̹̳̈́̈́̒̕ ̸͖̏̇̎̈͝t̵͖̖̞͑͂̍̕͜ḧ̶̡̖͍̦͚̰͈́͛̒̌e̴̙̩̪̥͇͈͕͊ ̷̰̏̽̓̓̓w̵͍̦̤͖̔̒̌̉͘͠e̵̻̗͙̘̖̍͜͝i̶̡̧̳̥͇͎͜͝g̷̻̜͖̜̏͂̀̂̈́h̵͚̤͒́̾̄̊̆t̴͇̼́̽̈́̚͝͠ ̷̺̳̤͙̝̉o̵͎̣̺͍͇̻̠͆̂f̵̣̤͙̩͍̲̻̒͝ ̶͕̱̜̓͌͋̿̉͠m̷̲̺̲̫̳̘̈̉͠ǫ̶̛͈̰̲̞̰͖̑́ù̸̠͙̬̿͘n̸̳̟̰̓͊̀̿͌̕t̴̛̠͔̻̩̹̊͐̄ḁ̵̢̣̖̽̌̓͑́͜͠i̸̜̞͌͛̒͂̎́͠n̶͎̺̾s̷͙̈́́̓͒ ̸̛̬͔͍̅͜ó̴͈̳͚̤̎̃̀̄ͅn̵̮̖̜͂ ̵̢̠̭̈́̍y̶̢̛̪̭̗͙̐̋o̸̧̎̐̓̐ư̵̧̺̳̣̪̬͌̃̐̆̚͝r̸͙͊̈́̄ ̸̨̧̘̜̠̂͜s̶̻̤̍͐͊͝ǫ̷͚͙̟͉͑̆̈́u̵̺̖̿͒̌l̸̰̠͎͕͔͐̅̑.̵̮̤̘̯̹̑̀̅̒ͅ ̶̢̲͑̈͘͘͠ͅŃ̸̢͍̭̆͜͠í̵͖̫̗͍̱͚̻̀͋̊͝ẗ̸̳̭̼̜̑͊ö̸̫̻̍ ̴̩̗͎͂͗̄̂̉̐h̶̙͒͝ả̶̼̟̙͈̺̬̗͐̐̂̅̍́d̶̢̛͔̖̽̚ ̶̲̮̠͛̄̔̚n̸͓̙̪̭͛̋̉͆͝ö̴͖̫̜̦̪̤́̿̈̽͘͜͝ť̶̠̿̈́ ̷̛̠̩̂̓̈́̑̔c̴̹̙̹̻͉̤̈́͆l̷̛͕͐͛̌̇a̷̺͖̩̓͗i̷̼̞̱̦̜͈̋̂͐͊͂̏m̷̬͓̘͗̐́̚ẹ̴̡̱̥͉̻̦́̿̆̄̂͒̀d̶̘̝̙̟̺̝͋ ̷̨͇̪̆̔̆̃̈́̀å̴͖̟͍̟̬͈͑̂s̷̹͋̋̈́͋͒̒͘ ̷̯͊̔̓̑͆̏̈́m̶̗̰̰̀͗̒͊̏̏͠ã̷͚̋̒͆͒̋ṉ̷̨͍̺̩͎̱͊̔̏̄̊ỵ̵̜̹̰̠͖̽̀̇̂͗ ̸̺̙̮̌̂͐͜á̶̡̬͔̺̀̓ͅͅs̶̡̛͓͇̍̆͝͝ ̴͈͖̞͖̹̀̿͂̀̕̚̕ͅẏ̷̧̛̀̚͝ö̴͈́̀ư̶̞̳̋̎́͝͝ͅ,̷̫̰̳͆̏̌̅͛̔͝ ̴̡̰̩̳̞̲̃͌̃̈͝n̵̳͖̜͂̈́̽̑̇͜͠o̸͓̭͓̊͊r̸͙͍̰̲͓͑̕͝ ̴̨̳̻̣̝̤̏̎ẖ̸̆ḁ̷̛̫͂̿͒̀̉͠ş̶͇̻̹̟͑́͘̚ ̷̣̟̲̏̄̓̿̽̋̈G̶̲̙̟̓̚w̷̦̹̼͍͔̓̿̅̓͐͋̚y̸̳̬͇̮͑͂̀̊̀͊̄n̸͍̜͕̽̈̓͋̅͊̚͜.̷̞͇̖̥̬̹̯̏ ̶̨̛͈̔̽̅͑Y̷͚͐͆͂͌͆̾o̶̹̫̔̃̊̍͛̂u̵͇̬̒ ̴̥̮̠̪̳̍̒͘̚͝a̵̛̗͊̐͆l̶̲̙̺̼̍̓͌̿̎̔̈o̷̻̳̳̺͠ń̸̼̼̪̯̥̯̆̒̕ḛ̴̢͖͈͉͈̺͒̏͂̔̚ ̶̝́͂̈͠͝a̶̖̮̩̗͖̹͊͂̽r̴̜͈͍͈̈̓͆͘ͅê̶̼͕̜̥̺̬̏ ̷̼̬̪̻̜̀̈̌̅̆̈̕t̶̖̪̹̉̆h̷̻̰̠̽e̷̲̿̾͂̊̕͘̕ ̶͖̤̫̫̩̀͂̐͘ȩ̵͖̦̓̕n̷͔̙̖͋̆̏́̂̀͘͜ḑ̵̠̱̖̎͛͝ ̶̧͖̤̻̻͂͛̃̐͗ȯ̴͚́̅f̵͍̖̥̓̿͒̓͝ ̶̩͒̓͘͠ā̷̱̰͕̫͙̐̈̚͘͝ḷ̵̨͇̳̙͛̂̐ͅl̶̬̺̭͑̈́͋̐͝,̸̡̱̝̪̹̖̋̐͂̓̽͌̔ͅ ̶̮̮̼̍ų̷̘̙̹͔̆̈́̕n̶͉̓͝d̸̹̜̍̽̈́̍͑͠ȩ̶͖͙̣̺͙̎͒̉̚s̶̥̮̻̻̯̱̋̐̉̕͝ȩ̸͉̲̀͊͠r̶͔̩̀ͅv̵̳͖̩̖̇̓̑͌̈́̊ī̷̱̳̜̜̕ṇ̷̡̛̅̈́͂̎͝g̸̳͕̦̬̒̚ ̵̢̯͇͊͑͒́o̶̙̤̔͊f̸͙̗̫̓̔̋̕ ̸̡̤̪̥̖͉̘̀̽̍̓p̷͙͙͙̾̌ͅŗ̸̯̰̱͂̈́̎à̷̺̦̻̺̼̣̘͊ĩ̶̻̱̃͐s̶̩̀͗͋͝e̶̛͔̱͗͌ ̸͙̘̹͌͝ö̴̻͕͍̯̼̰́̋̾̑̌̄ṙ̸͎̻͈̹͚̙ ̶̬̳̏̽̕c̵̛̊̓͜r̶̲͗̔͆̏̎̕͠ó̸̡̯̹̙͔̥̯w̴̘͖̻̥̖̒͒͒̋̈́͝n̴̝̖͈̹͛̕ ̶̗̣͔̤͇̩͋͐̎͐͂ỵ̷͗̈́̿̾͗ó̵̜̺̟̯̟͎̺̋ǔ̴̧̼͉̩̫̠̒ ̸̹̦̲͓̤͂͘͝m̸̟̗̰̓̄͆̚͝į̶͇͈̽͐̕n̸̰̭̝͍̋̒̑d̵͇͉̲͖̊͆̾͜l̸͔͇̜͗é̸̡̨̦̺̊s̷̩̬̤͕̯̪̉̄͛͘š̶̤̰̩̝̩̺͜l̸͎͙͗̑̀̃͜y̷͇̾̆̎͆̄̉͝ ̵̹̬͋̉̿̓̍̌p̸̛̫͇̓͋̅́́͠ù̶͇̣̤̪̓̏̚͜r̵͈͗̑̌̀͆̚͝ṣ̴̛͉͍͋̃̂̕u̷͔͍̦̍͛́̀̀̈͝ͅe̸̗̥̽͜d̵̛͍̮̭͇͇͑̐̀̾͗̚.̶͕̟̿̚ ̸̝̃͑͝F̷̛̳̥͕͉̰̲̪̅ă̵̠̫̬̼͋r̷̠̈̈́̃̉͠͠ ̶͇̙̬̦̜̥̫̽̋̒̎t̸͈̫̻́͋͆̿̿̉͝ó̶̭͚͛̒̉ȍ̵̢̹͔̼̰͙̫̑̌̃̚ ̸̰͌̿̈̈͐g̶͈̽̇̿̈́͝ư̵̥̱̐̂͘͜t̵̼͉̜͇͑̕l̸̖̘͓̖̦̙͑̇̚͠e̵̛̩͕͐s̴͕͙̼̪̦͚̳̾̓͒̅͊̀š̷̪͕͕̾̇̇͊͘ ̸̨̩̝̳̔̇ͅẗ̸̟̉̈́̀͋͌̚o̵̢̝͎͇̓́̈͜͠ͅ ̸̢̫͓̂̆̑͑͘̚͝c̸͎̟̱͇̅̈́̿̆̃͒l̶̩̼̟͊̅͋̔ͅá̸̢̢̛͍͈̰́ĩ̷̧̜͎̳̼̚͠m̷̨̖̰͆̆ ̵̨̩͔͖̞̘̩̅͘ê̵̗̗̟̻̥͙̅͋̍̅̀ḭ̴̼̖͍͓́͝t̴͖̤͔̫̪͉̣͋͐̑̌͌́h̸̬̰̺̭̰̿͑͊͝ę̵̱͔̟͇̻͍͂̄̑̕̚r̴͓̟̳̄̒͝,̵̨̯̹̼̮̤̌̊̓̃ ̶͉͖̤̉͐̒̃w̷͔̝̙͖̠̑̃̏o̷̩͎̍̅͋̿̚͝r̴͕̼̦̦̈́̽̎̋r̴͖̝͊͒̒͋͌ī̶̱̱̥͕̦̅̐͗̄è̴̹͓̟͝͝͠d̷̖̙̫̹̤̀ ̶̞̔̀̄͆ͅo̵̪͉̟̓̍f̶̤̭͒͌͜ ̷̧͚̻͖̚y̵̩͇̺̘͆̿ơ̴̧͈̥̬̽͒̈́̚ͅu̴̬͝r̸̡̡͉̻͙͉̂ ̵͈̆͘͝p̸̧̮̲̞͍̖͔͗̇ỉ̶̺̲͙̩̮̘̌̀́̄͋t̸̡̛̲͖͔̲͋̿͂̂̎͠ ̵̦̞̟̈͛̓͝d̷̳͇̝̜̺̪̈e̵̙̖̩̱͙̠̽ͅē̸̗̖p̶̪̱̂̑̀ ̸̻̲̭̞͖̠͔̒͝ẅ̴̧̛̯́̒̽̕̕ͅį̷̝̜̬͎̭͗t̵̟̤͊͐͒͂̕̚h̵̝̟̮̲͐̌i̸̠͚̍͠n̶̘̖̟̻̗̪̏ ̴̱̿t̵͍̼̭̀h̶͚̠͍̥̩̫̺̑̋̄̀̇͛ḙ̴̡͉̲̭̻̿͐̎̊̐̈́ ̶̳̲́̈́̓͠͝ḩ̴͉̋̌̊͜ę̷̖͍͕̆́̓̑̕ͅá̵͍r̵̡̖̥̐̀̅ṯ̴̑ ̸͔̆͗͗̇̓͒̚s̷̯͖̍̓̿̐̉̚o̵͍̿ ̵̧̧̣͇̗̔̈̚̚c̴̹͖̳̘̀̆́̎͆̀̕ȑ̶̢͖̀̍̋͗̄ǘ̶̢̥͔͇̣̫̒̈̋͋̔ͅd̶̲́̌͒̄̎͗̊ȅ̶͓̺̟͎̼͊̏͐ḷ̸̨̬̜͎̼́ͅŷ̴͕̜͙͇̋̊̎̊͛ ̴̞̙̪̙͖̜̀t̴̡̨̨̟̪̭͌o̸̮͉̠̒̈́͋̆̓̋r̷̡͌n̸̡̮͍͆̓͛.̸̨̨̪̻͛͋͒̄ ̸̧̣̣̬̳̈́̎C̸̹̫̥͐̏̓͐̋̚͝ȗ̵͚̤̯͍̖͙̒̎͗̽̕͝ŗ̶̻͍̳̖̜̓͝s̴̡̛̭̠͍̠͕̕ě̸̪̺͖̊͐͐ͅḑ̸̜͈͍̙̎̔͗ ̷̪͓̬͍̍̉͘͘b̷̢͓͙͙̲̮̔̅̈́̐̐ȩ̷͓͎̭͔̲̿͒̆̀̀͜͝ỉ̷̯͕͙̥̬̆̊̐͑n̸̹͈̻̿̍̚ͅg̷̭͓̘̀̓͊̽̄s̸̢͈̳̼̐́ ̷̯͔̥̦̞͕̌͘ẅ̴̡̢͓̳͚͈̤́̏h̸̢̩̺̤̞̺̜̀ờ̶̝́̆̒̓̚s̸̡͈͔̼̠̊ẹ̷̀̏͗̄̋̈ ̷̹͓̒͋̆s̷̡͕̘̺̱̲̰̈̈̃̆̌t̷̼̖̮͂ę̵̅̈́͝͝͝p̴̛͍̩̟̙͎͌̓̈̿͗̚͜s̵̳̩͐̍̔̒̀͝ ̵̼͇̥̈́ȩ̴̜͎͉͔̤̋̅c̴̢̛̱̟̠̝̭͊͂͗̋h̸͕̮͍̩͓͛̽̎͆̅̌o̶̡̳̤̮͗̍ ̸̧̼̺͆͐̇ţ̴͙̗̮͖̩̦͛̋̈ḩ̶͖͔̜̲͓̎͊͋̐̄͠͝ĕ̵̩̲̄̀̄͂͘ ̵̉̓̔̂͜c̶̛̙̼̠͊̈̕̕o̴̡̺̿m̷̛̤͛͒͠i̸̯̤̝͊͐̇̃͠n̷͍̥̘͔͙̠̦̓g̶̤͔͚̰̻̊͌͌͐́̕ ̷͇̟́̈̉͐͋͠ď̸̨͉̘̅̀͌̐̕e̷̢̫̱̱̍͝͝a̴̧̡͙̺͒̐t̷̪̦̟͖͖͊͜h̴̨̦̠͕̰̰̾̓͘̕̕,̶̭̿͋̽̏̍̌̀ ̵̪̞̫͆̈̉w̷̱̘͈̫̿ͅh̵̫͋o̷͓̰̪͖̭͔̖͆̀̉͆̈̋s̶̛̠̼͉̾͌̑͠ę̶̡̥̺̙̩̽̊ ̴̢͕̜̫͕̣̗̓̔́̓͂̃͝g̵͖̞͖̈́̐̕o̷̗̅̎̀͐̋̚ȁ̵̗̜̯̲͔̣̎̈́̽̾͝l̶̲͖̍̂͘ ̴̨̝̰̫͎̼̮̍͂͛s̵̪̭̞̗͉̔̂́̈̀ͅţ̴̭͈͓̬͕̻̿̃̎͊͌̕̕ë̸̢͈͚͇̈̒ě̵̖̣̞̫͕̲̪͌̈́͑̓̒͆p̵̠̲͑̅̀͜͜͠ȩ̴̛̙̜͊̂̚d̶̺̮̣̱͛̕ ̶͖͖̦̒̕͠i̵͇̗̘͖̟̓̾̔n̶̩̗͚̦͍͕͒̆̒́̌ ̷̧̱͇̱̤̋̉̔̽̕b̴̮̗͉̜͉̉͒͒̾̈e̶̳̼͚͍̞͜͝ẗ̶̡̪̠̻̪͚̍̀̀͐r̶̫̐̋a̷̛̼͍͕̬̎̽̊͒̋ͅÿ̵͙̺͍̭̝́̎̇͗â̸͍̮͚̥l̷̡̙̤̲̎̆̂̈́͌ ̸̨̞͔̪̯̠͑̂̑͒̈́̊ä̷͓̰̺̖͇͎͊̇͐͊͌͝ṋ̶̡̮̀͜d̵̦͍̓̌̾̾̀͗ ̷̠̘̳̮̭̊̆̊̐͛̌̂s̶̡̠͓̩͋̚͘u̴͙͉͖̤͒f̶͕̺͖̲̯̈̔́̓̚͝f̷͇̼͚͚͕̉̀̀͌́͘͠ę̸͂̆̒͑̓̽͘ŗ̸̪̙̬͕̟͉̈́̾̏ȉ̵̫̯̔ṉ̴̺̄̑̕g̸̞̹͈̍͒̏̌͒̄̚ ̴͓̫̖͕̞̓͛̑͜ḧ̷̲͖̺̀̂͆͂o̴̘͔̫͙̹͆ẇ̵̬̺̰͉͉͎̦̄̇ ̸̛̼̤̞͉͘d̸͈̫͊̇͐͋̓̏̕ǎ̶̞̞̜͕̒̓̍̉r̶̰̣̙̗̲͉͒͛̒͊͆̕e̸̡̗̼̩̩̊ͅ ̷͇̇̊ÿ̴̡̧̫̳̙̜̺́̋͛̓̀͠o̴̳̦͉̊͒͋͘u̸̳̗̎͋̽́͒͂̕ ̵̧̨̤̰̘̀v̷͚͔̯͔͊̓̾̾͊͘ḯ̴̤̬̖̪̙̣̑͐̕͜͠ẹ̵̞̮͗̇͗́w̴̤̣̞͊ ̸̢̒͂b̸̺̳̣̣̭̭̚͜l̷̛̹̽̓͝i̴̭̫͔̝̖͈̒͝s̴͖̣̳̝͕̎̍̿̀͝s̸̱̦̜͉͓̍͐̿f̷̥̄̆͆̐̆̓͋ų̵̭̠̰̙͉̹̂̀͗́̍̌l̷̫̣̱͛̄̚n̸̼͕̫͎̖̯̄̂ë̵͙́̉̀͋̈͛ś̴̟̺̘͜ş̵͔͕͖̈́͜.̶̩̝́́̂́̏ ̸̢̠̦͕̈̐̚F̴͈͉̱̲̹͈͕̆ä̸̛̮̯̺͈̬̭̻̒̀̍͆̔ļ̷͓͓͉̝̐̓l̷̡͇̟͇̗̹͓̽ ̶̪̻̝͔̬͎͖̏̓͛̋f̵̧̪̙̠͋̿̓̉͗̎͠ȏ̴̻̤̹͕͍͜r̶̮̦͌ē̵̡̂̒̔̏͝v̷͈̹̉e̷̦̹̥̟̭͕̿̄̒̍̚̚r̵͓͇͚̜̈͋̉̏̓̕͘͜ ̸̨̠̮̥͇̰̋̇̽͝ṫ̸̛̙ơ̷̢̢̜̻̗̱͑͂̌̃͜ ̷̜̒̑̅̈̅͝š̶̨̢̟̼̜̹̌̂͐l̴̥̪͌̎͜ë̴͙̜́̎ͅę̷̼͙͉̓p̸̞̖̦͝,̴̞̯͇͐͂͒̿̆͜͝ ̶̡͕̦̭͓͓͘ǫ̴̧̞̹̱̱̾̒̈́̉̀n̸̛͉̻̝̺̱̖̄̈l̶̖̞̣̰̙̩̋͌̔y̶̟͇͕͂͌͗̄̿̈́̏ ̴̛̜̘̝̪̏̇̑̈́͋͜ẗ̷̙́̅͗̓ö̶͕̫̠́̾́ ̴̛̺̈́a̸̫͕̪͊͒͆̿́̊͠w̸̯̦̘͂ă̵̰̼͕̬͉͆̉k̵͓̀̈́̓͐ě̴͇̝̣n̵̫͚͕̫̰̈́̑͆ ̷̨̧̪͎̞͈̃̓͆̾ͅh̸̡͓̹̦́͗́̾͘͘̕͜ͅo̵̹̐̐̅́͒́ḽ̶͑ĺ̴͎̬̐̃̈́o̷͎̤͓͉̖͐̃́̄̅̊̕͜w̴̢̲͈̬͍͓̲͐̈̅͗̒̿̌.̵̱̺̹̝̖̽̇͋̿̽̏̀ ̷̪͔̓̈̒̚͜S̷͚͍̰̋ú̵̫͚́̏̈́͛͠͠c̶̬̺̔h̶̥̺̻̱̽̆̽̋̅́ ̷̨̼̖̣̯̱̐̂i̵̹͖̟͖̮̇̆s̵̥̺͒̒̑̒̔͘ ̷̫̥̳̥̔̀̈́̓ț̵̆̚h̸̬̹̤̝̘̿ę̷̬̻̍ ̷̧̥͈̄̓̆̑̎c̸̛̹͇̪̩̣̪̒̇̿͗͜u̵̫̱̼̦̾̀̈̈́͐̂̂r̴̭̃͋̈̎̀̉͜s̵̨̨͈͚̀̈̊͠ę̴̗͚͎̖̞͌̆̂̇͌͝ ̷̦͎̰̭̯̲̿ͅǒ̴̪͇͙̈̊f̴̹̰̪͍̞̅͜ͅ ̶̜̗̘̫̲́͒̿͘͝t̸̜̩̗̪̟̫̆͆h̸͇̼̻͔̙̼̽̀e̸̩̙̲͕̯̐̏̈́ ̸̦̮̦͘õ̵̗̉̌͑̓̕͠n̷̡̐̈́̄e̵̹͚̦̟̓̀̍̔̈́̄ ̶̟͓͕̀̉͝ẁ̵͕̂͌͐i̷̢̯͔̖̙̅̂̎͜ṱ̴͆̈́͛̅h̷̢̨̭̫̺̰͓̑̍͊̑̔ ̸̢̥͇̓̔̊͗p̴͍̤̄̚͝ͅở̷͔̺̖̜̭͖͂̓͗͜w̷̖̭͕͈̃͆̈́͆ę̷̢̼̟͚̰̏r̸̢͖̫̻̼͋̿͌̾͆ ̷̩̬͓͆̒͛̾a̸̞͇͖̙̟̅͆̀̋̆̆͝ǹ̴̗͙̆̒̾͒͛̕d̴̦̫̥̈́͆ ̶̻̌̓́̈̕ẁ̷̧̪̮̟̽͜i̶̩͇̙̋̌̽͜ͅl̵̩̲̟̠̯͌̅ͅĺ̷̥́͗ ̴̱͑̏͋͊̚ṫ̵̥̺̈́͛̎́ō̷͈̙ ̸͇͈͑s̴̭̘͂̽̈́̿̑͝ḷ̶̤̣̀̕a̸̢̫̖̱͊̔y̴̪̦͕͆ ̸͔̹̪͊̽̕Ġ̴̗̝͓̹̪̼̄̌͆͗̂ö̵͓̳̳̏͋̏͝͠ḍ̴̹̀s̶͈̬̠̱̞̋.̵͚̖̎̀̐̿́̚͝H̶̢̲̙͖͎͔͚̿̀̿̽͝o̶̮͉̖̜͕̟̾w̴̱͓̠̬̄̚ ̵̤͎̜̄̅d̵̲͓̝̜͎̺̏̋̌͜a̴͙͖̺͎̅̈́̍̈r̴̮̻̙̱̠͌͆̈e̵̥̼͖͙̱̊ ̴̧̦̪͚̪̩̍̈́̉y̸̙̮̔̈́̆̆̿̂́ơ̶̘̮̜͇̟̼͜ǔ̶̧̺̖̙ ̴͚̤̀̄p̴̩͇͔̦̈́r̶̡͕͆̾̆̿̏́̓è̶̯͚͔͑͂͑t̸̡̻̭̃͝e̵̼̊̄̓ñ̶̡̢̦̬̰̎͜ḋ̷̳͕̙̫̻̉̋̈ ̴͙͎̥̳̹̤̰̑͗t̶̰̭̤̺͐͑̾͐͝͠͠ö̷̩̺̩̯̳́̆̈́͜ ̸̗̗̟̀c̶̢͕̮̥̗̰͆a̴̛̖͙͎͐̔͂͛̚r̶̝̱̬̲͍͇͒̿ë̶̻̲̲̆̈́̓̑ ̵̖̻̰͊̎́͒͌w̵̢̳̺̒͗̅̒i̸̢͕̯͑̐͆͗͜͜t̴̜͎̭̽̍͆̓͘͘͠ͅḧ̴̜̹̳̈́̈́̒̕ ̸͖̏̇̎̈͝t̵͖̖̞͑͂̍̕͜ḧ̶̡̖͍̦͚̰͈́͛̒̌e̴̙̩̪̥͇͈͕͊ ̷̰̏̽̓̓̓w̵͍̦̤͖̔̒̌̉͘͠e̵̻̗͙̘̖̍͜͝i̶̡̧̳̥͇͎͜͝g̷̻̜͖̜̏͂̀̂̈́h̵͚̤͒́̾̄̊̆t̴͇̼́̽̈́̚͝͠ ̷̺̳̤͙̝̉o̵͎̣̺͍͇̻̠͆̂f̵̣̤͙̩͍̲̻̒͝ ̶͕̱̜̓͌͋̿̉͠m̷̲̺̲̫̳̘̈̉͠ǫ̶̛͈̰̲̞̰͖̑́ù̸̠͙̬̿͘n̸̳̟̰̓͊̀̿͌̕t̴̛̠͔̻̩̹̊͐̄ḁ̵̢̣̖̽̌̓͑́͜͠i̸̜̞͌͛̒͂̎́͠n̶͎̺̾s̷͙̈́́̓͒ ̸̛̬͔͍̅͜ó̴͈̳͚̤̎̃̀̄ͅn̵̮̖̜͂ ̵̢̠̭̈́̍y̶̢̛̪̭̗͙̐̋o̸̧̎̐̓̐ư̵̧̺̳̣̪̬͌̃̐̆̚͝r̸͙͊̈́̄ ̸̨̧̘̜̠̂͜s̶̻̤̍͐͊͝ǫ̷͚͙̟͉͑̆̈́u̵̺̖̿͒̌l̸̰̠͎͕͔͐̅̑.̵̮̤̘̯̹̑̀̅̒ͅ ̶̢̲͑̈͘͘͠ͅŃ̸̢͍̭̆͜͠í̵͖̫̗͍̱͚̻̀͋̊͝ẗ̸̳̭̼̜̑͊ö̸̫̻̍ ̴̩̗͎͂͗̄̂̉̐h̶̙͒͝ả̶̼̟̙͈̺̬̗͐̐̂̅̍́d̶̢̛͔̖̽̚ ̶̲̮̠͛̄̔̚n̸͓̙̪̭͛̋̉͆͝ö̴͖̫̜̦̪̤́̿̈̽͘͜͝ť̶̠̿̈́ ̷̛̠̩̂̓̈́̑̔c̴̹̙̹̻͉̤̈́͆l̷̛͕͐͛̌̇a̷̺͖̩̓͗i̷̼̞̱̦̜͈̋̂͐͊͂̏m̷̬͓̘͗̐́̚ẹ̴̡̱̥͉̻̦́̿̆̄̂͒̀d̶̘̝̙̟̺̝͋ ̷̨͇̪̆̔̆̃̈́̀å̴͖̟͍̟̬͈͑̂s̷̹͋̋̈́͋͒̒͘ ̷̯͊̔̓̑͆̏̈́m̶̗̰̰̀͗̒͊̏̏͠ã̷͚̋̒͆͒̋ṉ̷̨͍̺̩͎̱͊̔̏̄̊ỵ̵̜̹̰̠͖̽̀̇̂͗ ̸̺̙̮̌̂͐͜á̶̡̬͔̺̀̓ͅͅs̶̡̛͓͇̍̆͝͝ ̴͈͖̞͖̹̀̿͂̀̕̚̕ͅẏ̷̧̛̀̚͝ö̴͈́̀ư̶̞̳̋̎́͝͝ͅ,̷̫̰̳͆̏̌̅͛̔͝ ̴̡̰̩̳̞̲̃͌̃̈͝n̵̳͖̜͂̈́̽̑̇͜͠o̸͓̭͓̊͊r̸͙͍̰̲͓͑̕͝ ̴̨̳̻̣̝̤̏̎ẖ̸̆ḁ̷̛̫͂̿͒̀̉͠ş̶͇̻̹̟͑́͘̚ ̷̣̟̲̏̄̓̿̽̋̈G̶̲̙̟̓̚w̷̦̹̼͍͔̓̿̅̓͐͋̚y̸̳̬͇̮͑͂̀̊̀͊̄n̸͍̜͕̽̈̓͋̅͊̚͜.̷̞͇̖̥̬̹̯̏ ̶̨̛͈̔̽̅͑Y̷͚͐͆͂͌͆̾o̶̹̫̔̃̊̍͛̂u̵͇̬̒ ̴̥̮̠̪̳̍̒͘̚͝a̵̛̗͊̐͆l̶̲̙̺̼̍̓͌̿̎̔̈o̷̻̳̳̺͠ń̸̼̼̪̯̥̯̆̒̕ḛ̴̢͖͈͉͈̺͒̏͂̔̚ ̶̝́͂̈͠͝a̶̖̮̩̗͖̹͊͂̽r̴̜͈͍͈̈̓͆͘ͅê̶̼͕̜̥̺̬̏ ̷̼̬̪̻̜̀̈̌̅̆̈̕t̶̖̪̹̉̆h̷̻̰̠̽e̷̲̿̾͂̊̕͘̕ ̶͖̤̫̫̩̀͂̐͘ȩ̵͖̦̓̕n̷͔̙̖͋̆̏́̂̀͘͜ḑ̵̠̱̖̎͛͝ ̶̧͖̤̻̻͂͛̃̐͗ȯ̴͚́̅f̵͍̖̥̓̿͒̓͝ ̶̩͒̓͘͠ā̷̱̰͕̫͙̐̈̚͘͝ḷ̵̨͇̳̙͛̂̐ͅl̶̬̺̭͑̈́͋̐͝,̸̡̱̝̪̹̖̋̐͂̓̽͌̔ͅ ̶̮̮̼̍ų̷̘̙̹͔̆̈́̕n̶͉̓͝d̸̹̜̍̽̈́̍͑͠ȩ̶͖͙̣̺͙̎͒̉̚s̶̥̮̻̻̯̱̋̐̉̕͝ȩ̸͉̲̀͊͠r̶͔̩̀ͅ DEMON ̶̬̳̏̽̕c̵̛̊̓͜r̶̲͗̔͆̏̎̕͠ó̸̡̯̹̙͔̥̯w̴̘͖̻̥̖̒͒͒̋̈́͝n̴̝̖͈̹͛̕ ̶̗̣͔̤͇̩͋͐̎͐͂ỵ̷͗̈́̿̾͗ó̵̜̺̟̯̟͎̺̋ǔ̴̧̼͉̩̫̠̒ ̸̹̦̲͓̤͂͘͝m̸̟̗̰̓̄͆̚͝į̶͇͈̽͐̕n̸̰̭̝͍̋̒̑d̵͇͉̲͖̊͆̾͜l̸͔͇̜͗é̸̡̨̦̺̊s̷̩̬̤͕̯̪̉̄͛͘š̶̤̰̩̝̩̺͜l̸͎͙͗̑̀̃͜y̷͇̾̆̎͆̄̉͝ ̵̹̬͋̉̿̓̍̌p̸̛̫͇̓͋̅́́͠ù̶͇̣̤̪̓̏̚͜r̵͈͗̑̌̀͆̚͝ṣ̴̛͉͍͋̃̂̕u̷͔͍̦̍͛́̀̀̈͝ͅe̸̗̥̽͜d̵̛͍̮̭͇͇͑̐̀̾͗̚.̶͕̟̿̚ ̸̝̃͑͝F̷̛̳̥͕͉̰̲̪̅ă̵̠̫̬̼͋r̷̠̈̈́̃̉͠͠ ̶͇̙̬̦̜̥̫̽̋̒̎t̸͈̫̻́͋͆̿̿̉͝ó̶̭͚͛̒̉ȍ̵̢̹͔̼̰͙̫̑̌̃̚ ̸̰͌̿̈̈͐g̶͈̽̇̿̈́͝ư̵̥̱̐̂͘͜t̵̼͉̜͇͑̕l̸̖̘͓̖̦̙͑̇̚͠e̵̛̩͕͐s̴͕͙̼̪̦͚̳̾̓͒̅͊̀š̷̪͕͕̾̇̇͊͘ ̸̨̩̝̳̔̇ͅẗ̸̟̉̈́̀͋͌̚o̵̢̝͎͇̓́̈͜͠ͅ ̸̢̫͓̂̆̑͑͘̚͝c̸͎̟̱͇̅̈́̿̆̃͒l̶̩̼̟͊̅͋̔ͅá̸̢̢̛͍͈̰́ĩ̷̧̜͎̳̼̚͠m̷̨̖̰͆̆ ̵̨̩͔͖̞̘̩̅͘ê̵̗̗̟̻̥͙̅͋̍̅̀ḭ̴̼̖͍͓́͝t̴͖̤͔̫̪͉̣͋͐̑̌͌́h̸̬̰̺̭̰̿͑͊͝ę̵̱͔̟͇̻͍͂̄̑̕̚r̴͓̟̳̄̒͝,̵̨̯̹̼̮̤̌̊̓̃ ̶͉͖̤̉͐̒̃w̷͔̝̙͖̠̑̃̏o̷̩͎̍̅͋̿̚͝r̴͕̼̦̦̈́̽̎̋r̴͖̝͊͒̒͋͌ī̶̱̱̥͕̦̅̐͗̄è̴̹͓̟͝͝͠d̷̖̙̫̹̤̀ ̶̞̔̀̄͆ͅo̵̪͉̟̓̍f̶̤̭͒͌͜ ̷̧͚̻͖̚y̵̩͇̺̘͆̿ơ̴̧͈̥̬̽͒̈́̚ͅu̴̬͝r̸̡̡͉̻͙͉̂ ̵͈̆͘͝p̸̧̮̲̞͍̖͔͗̇ỉ̶̺̲͙̩̮̘̌̀́̄͋t̸̡̛̲͖͔̲͋̿͂̂̎͠ ̵̦̞̟̈͛̓͝d̷̳͇̝̜̺̪̈e̵̙̖̩̱͙̠̽ͅē̸̗̖p̶̪̱̂̑̀ ̸̻̲̭̞͖̠͔̒͝ẅ̴̧̛̯́̒̽̕̕ͅį̷̝̜̬͎̭͗t̵̟̤͊͐͒͂̕̚h̵̝̟̮̲͐̌i̸̠͚̍͠n̶̘̖̟̻̗̪̏ ̴̱̿t̵͍̼̭̀h̶͚̠͍̥̩̫̺̑̋̄̀̇͛ḙ̴̡͉̲̭̻̿͐̎̊̐̈́ ̶̳̲́̈́̓͠͝ḩ̴͉̋̌̊͜ę̷̖͍͕̆́̓̑̕ͅá̵͍r̵̡̖̥̐̀̅ṯ̴̑ ̸͔̆͗͗̇̓͒̚s̷̯͖̍̓̿̐̉̚o̵͍̿ ̵̧̧̣͇̗̔̈̚̚c̴̹͖̳̘̀̆́̎͆̀̕ȑ̶̢͖̀̍̋͗̄ǘ̶̢̥͔͇̣̫̒̈̋͋̔ͅd̶̲́̌͒̄̎͗̊ȅ̶͓̺̟͎̼͊̏͐ḷ̸̨̬̜͎̼́ͅŷ̴͕̜͙͇̋̊̎̊͛ ̴̞̙̪̙͖̜̀t̴̡̨̨̟̪̭͌o̸̮͉̠̒̈́͋̆̓̋r̷̡͌n̸̡̮͍͆̓͛.̸̨̨̪̻͛͋͒̄ ̸̧̣̣̬̳̈́̎C̸̹̫̥͐̏̓͐̋̚͝ȗ̵͚̤̯͍̖͙̒̎͗̽̕͝ŗ̶̻͍̳̖̜̓͝s̴̡̛̭̠͍̠͕̕ě̸̪̺͖̊͐͐ͅḑ̸̜͈͍̙̎̔͗ ̷̪͓̬͍̍̉͘͘b̷̢͓͙͙̲̮̔̅̈́̐̐ȩ̷͓͎̭͔̲̿͒̆̀̀͜͝ỉ̷̯͕͙̥̬̆̊̐͑n̸̹͈̻̿̍̚ͅg̷̭͓̘̀̓͊̽̄s̸̢͈̳̼̐́ ̷̯͔̥̦̞͕̌͘ẅ̴̡̢͓̳͚͈̤́̏h̸̢̩̺̤̞̺̜̀ờ̶̝́̆̒̓̚s̸̡͈͔̼̠̊ẹ̷̀̏͗̄̋̈ ̷̹͓̒͋̆s̷̡͕̘̺̱̲̰̈̈̃̆̌t̷̼̖̮͂ę̵̅̈́͝͝͝p̴̛͍̩̟̙͎͌̓̈̿͗̚͜s̵̳̩͐̍̔̒̀͝ ̵̼͇̥̈́ȩ̴̜͎͉͔̤̋̅c̴̢̛̱̟̠̝̭͊͂͗̋h̸͕̮͍̩͓͛̽̎͆̅̌o̶̡̳̤̮͗̍ ̸̧̼̺͆͐̇ţ̴͙̗̮͖̩̦͛̋̈ḩ̶͖͔̜̲͓̎͊͋̐̄͠͝ĕ̵̩̲̄̀̄͂͘ ̵̉̓̔̂͜c̶̛̙̼̠͊̈̕̕o̴̡̺̿m̷̛̤͛͒͠i̸̯̤̝͊͐̇̃͠n̷͍̥̘͔͙̠̦̓g̶̤͔͚̰̻̊͌͌͐́̕ ̷͇̟́̈̉͐͋͠ď̸̨͉̘̅̀͌̐̕e̷̢̫̱̱̍͝͝a̴̧̡͙̺͒̐t̷̪̦̟͖͖͊͜h̴̨̦̠͕̰̰̾̓͘̕̕,̶̭̿͋̽̏̍̌̀ ̵̪̞̫͆̈̉w̷̱̘͈̫̿ͅh̵̫͋o̷͓̰̪͖̭͔̖͆̀̉͆̈̋s̶̛̠̼͉̾͌̑͠ę̶̡̥̺̙̩̽̊ ̴̢͕̜̫͕̣̗̓̔́̓͂̃͝g̵͖̞͖̈́̐̕o̷̗̅̎̀͐̋̚ȁ̵̗̜̯̲͔̣̎̈́̽̾͝l̶̲͖̍̂͘ ̴̨̝̰̫͎̼̮̍͂͛s̵̪̭̞̗͉̔̂́̈̀ͅţ̴̭͈͓̬͕̻̿̃̎͊͌̕̕ë̸̢͈͚͇̈̒ě̵̖̣̞̫͕̲̪͌̈́͑̓̒͆p̵̠̲͑̅̀͜͜͠ȩ̴̛̙̜͊̂̚d̶̺̮̣̱͛̕ ̶͖͖̦̒̕͠i̵͇̗̘͖̟̓̾̔n̶̩̗͚̦͍͕͒̆̒́̌ ̷̧̱͇̱̤̋̉̔̽̕b̴̮̗͉̜͉̉͒͒̾̈e̶̳̼͚͍̞͜͝ẗ̶̡̪̠̻̪͚̍̀̀͐r̶̫̐̋a̷̛̼͍͕̬̎̽̊͒̋ͅÿ̵͙̺͍̭̝́̎̇͗â̸͍̮͚̥l̷̡̙̤̲̎̆̂̈́͌ ̸̨̞͔̪̯̠͑̂̑͒̈́̊ä̷͓̰̺̖͇͎͊̇͐͊͌͝ṋ̶̡̮̀͜d̵̦͍̓̌̾̾̀͗ ̷̠̘̳̮̭̊̆̊̐͛̌̂s̶̡̠͓̩͋̚͘u̴͙͉͖̤͒f̶͕̺͖̲̯̈̔́̓̚͝f̷͇̼͚͚͕̉̀̀͌́͘͠ę̸͂̆̒͑̓̽͘ŗ̸̪̙̬͕̟͉̈́̾̏ȉ̵̫̯̔ṉ̴̺̄̑̕g̸̞̹͈̍͒̏̌͒̄̚ ̴͓̫̖͕̞̓͛̑͜ḧ̷̲͖̺̀̂͆͂o̴̘͔̫͙̹͆ẇ̵̬̺̰͉͉͎̦̄̇ ̸̛̼̤̞͉͘d̸͈̫͊̇͐͋̓̏̕ǎ̶̞̞̜͕̒̓̍̉r̶̰̣̙̗̲͉͒͛̒͊͆̕e̸̡̗̼̩̩̊ͅ ̷͇̇̊ÿ̴̡̧̫̳̙̜̺́̋͛̓̀͠o̴̳̦͉̊͒͋͘u̸̳̗̎͋̽́͒͂̕ ̵̧̨̤̰̘̀v̷͚͔̯͔͊̓̾̾͊͘ḯ̴̤̬̖̪̙̣̑͐̕͜͠ẹ̵̞̮͗̇͗́w̴̤̣̞͊ ̸̢̒͂b̸̺̳̣̣̭̭̚͜l̷̛̹̽̓͝i̴̭̫͔̝̖͈̒͝s̴͖̣̳̝͕̎̍̿̀͝s̸̱̦̜͉͓̍͐̿f̷̥̄̆͆̐̆̓͋ų̵̭̠̰̙͉̹̂̀͗́̍̌l̷̫̣̱͛̄̚n̸̼͕̫͎̖̯̄̂ë̵͙́̉̀͋̈͛ś̴̟̺̘͜ş̵͔͕͖̈́͜.̶̩̝́́̂́̏ ̸̢̠̦͕̈̐̚F̴͈͉̱̲̹͈͕̆ä̸̛̮̯̺͈̬̭̻̒̀̍͆̔ļ̷͓͓͉̝̐̓l̷̡͇̟͇̗̹͓̽ ̶̪̻̝͔̬͎͖̏̓͛̋f̵̧̪̙̠͋̿̓̉͗̎͠ȏ̴̻̤̹͕͍͜r̶̮̦͌ē̵̡̂̒̔̏͝v̷͈̹̉e̷̦̹̥̟̭͕̿̄̒̍̚̚r̵͓͇͚̜̈͋̉̏̓̕͘͜ ̸̨̠̮̥͇̰̋̇̽͝ṫ̸̛̙ơ̷̢̢̜̻̗̱͑͂̌̃͜ ̷̜̒̑̅̈̅͝š̶̨̢̟̼̜̹̌̂͐l̴̥̪͌̎͜ë̴͙̜́̎ͅę̷̼͙͉̓p̸̞̖̦͝,̴̞̯͇͐͂͒̿̆͜͝ ̶̡͕̦̭͓͓͘ǫ̴̧̞̹̱̱̾̒̈́̉̀n̸̛͉̻̝̺̱̖̄̈l̶̖̞̣̰̙̩̋͌̔y̶̟͇͕͂͌͗̄̿̈́̏ ̴̛̜̘̝̪̏̇̑̈́͋͜ẗ̷̙́̅͗̓ö̶͕̫̠́̾́ ̴̛̺̈́a̸̫͕̪͊͒͆̿́̊͠w̸̯̦̘͂ă̵̰̼͕̬͉͆̉k̵͓̀̈́̓͐ě̴͇̝̣n̵̫͚͕̫̰̈́̑͆ ̷̨̧̪͎̞͈̃̓͆̾ͅh̸̡͓̹̦́͗́̾͘͘̕͜ͅo̵̹̐̐̅́͒́ḽ̶͑ĺ̴͎̬̐̃̈́o̷͎̤͓͉̖͐̃́̄̅̊̕͜w̴̢̲͈̬͍͓̲͐̈̅͗̒̿̌.̵̱̺̹̝̖̽̇͋̿̽̏̀ ̷̪͔̓̈̒̚͜S̷͚͍̰̋ú̵̫͚́̏̈́͛͠͠c̶̬̺̔h̶̥̺̻̱̽̆̽̋̅́ ̷̨̼̖̣̯̱̐̂i̵̹͖̟͖̮̇̆s̵̥̺͒̒̑̒̔͘ ̷̫̥̳̥̔̀̈́̓ț̵̆̚h̸̬̹̤̝̘̿ę̷̬̻̍ ̷̧̥͈̄̓̆̑̎c̸̛̹͇̪̩̣̪̒̇̿͗͜u̵̫̱̼̦̾̀̈̈́͐̂̂r̴̭̃͋̈̎̀̉͜s̵̨̨͈͚̀̈̊͠ę̴̗͚͎̖̞͌̆̂̇͌͝ ̷̦͎̰̭̯̲̿ͅǒ̴̪͇͙̈̊f̴̹̰̪͍̞̅͜ͅ ̶̜̗̘̫̲́͒̿͘͝t̸̜̩̗̪̟̫̆͆h̸͇̼̻͔̙̼̽̀e̸̩̙̲͕̯̐̏̈́ ̸̦̮̦͘õ̵̗̉̌͑̓̕͠n̷̡̐̈́̄e̵̹͚̦̟̓̀̍̔̈́̄ ̶̟͓͕̀̉͝ẁ̵͕̂͌͐i̷̢̯͔̖̙̅̂̎͜ṱ̴͆̈́͛̅h̷̢̨̭̫̺̰͓̑̍͊̑̔ ̸̢̥͇̓̔̊͗p̴͍̤̄̚͝ͅở̷͔̺̖̜̭͖͂̓͗͜w̷̖̭͕͈̃͆̈́͆ę̷̢̼̟͚̰̏r̸̢͖̫̻̼͋̿͌̾͆ ̷̩̬͓͆̒͛̾a̸̞͇͖̙̟̅͆̀̋̆̆͝ǹ̴̗͙̆̒̾͒͛̕d̴̦̫̥̈́͆ ̶̻̌̓́̈̕ẁ̷̧̪̮̟̽͜i̶̩͇̙̋̌̽͜ͅl̵̩̲̟̠̯͌̅ͅĺ̷̥́͗ ̴̱͑̏͋͊̚ṫ̵̥̺̈́͛̎́ō̷͈̙ ̸͇͈͑s̴̭̘͂̽̈́̿̑͝ḷ̶̤̣̀̕a̸̢̫̖̱͊̔y̴̪̦͕͆ ̸͔̹̪͊̽̕Ġ̴̗̝͓̹̪̼̄̌͆͗̂ö̵͓̳̳̏͋̏͝͠ḍ̴̹̀s̶͈̬̠̱̞̋.̵͚̖̎̀̐̿́̚͝H̶̢̲̙͖͎͔͚̿̀̿̽͝o̶̮͉̖̜͕̟̾w̴̱͓̠̬̄̚ ̵̤͎̜̄̅d̵̲͓̝̜͎̺̏̋̌͜a̴͙͖̺͎̅̈́̍̈r̴̮̻̙̱̠͌͆̈e̵̥̼͖͙̱̊ ̴̧̦̪͚̪̩̍̈́̉y̸̙̮̔̈́̆̆̿̂́ơ̶̘̮̜͇̟̼͜ǔ̶̧̺̖̙ ̴͚̤̀̄p̴̩͇͔̦̈́r̶̡͕͆̾̆̿̏́̓è̶̯͚͔͑͂͑t̸̡̻̭̃͝e̵̼̊̄̓ñ̶̡̢̦̬̰̎͜ḋ̷̳͕̙̫̻̉̋̈ ̴͙͎̥̳̹̤̰̑͗t̶̰̭̤̺͐͑̾͐͝͠͠ö̷̩̺̩̯̳́̆̈́͜ ̸̗̗̟̀c̶̢͕̮̥̗̰͆a̴̛̖͙͎͐̔͂͛̚r̶̝̱̬̲͍͇͒̿ë̶̻̲̲̆̈́̓̑ ̵̖̻̰͊̎́͒͌w̵̢̳̺̒͗̅̒i̸̢͕̯͑̐͆͗͜͜t̴̜͎̭̽̍͆̓͘͘͠ͅḧ̴̜̹̳̈́̈́̒̕ ̸͖̏̇̎̈͝t̵͖̖̞͑͂̍̕͜ḧ̶̡̖͍̦͚̰͈́͛̒̌e̴̙̩̪̥͇͈͕͊ ̷̰̏̽̓̓̓w̵͍̦̤͖̔̒̌̉͘͠e̵̻̗͙̘̖̍͜͝i̶̡̧̳̥͇͎͜͝g̷̻̜͖̜̏͂̀̂̈́h̵͚̤͒́̾̄̊̆t̴͇̼́̽̈́̚͝͠ ̷̺̳̤͙̝̉o̵͎̣̺͍͇̻̠͆̂f̵̣̤͙̩͍̲̻̒͝ ̶͕̱̜̓͌͋̿̉͠m̷̲̺̲̫̳̘̈̉͠ǫ̶̛͈̰̲̞̰͖̑́ù̸̠͙̬̿͘n̸̳̟̰̓͊̀̿͌̕t̴̛̠͔̻̩̹̊͐̄ḁ̵̢̣̖̽̌̓͑́͜͠i̸̜̞͌͛̒͂̎́͠n̶͎̺̾s̷͙̈́́̓͒ ̸̛̬͔͍̅͜ó̴͈̳͚̤̎̃̀̄ͅn̵̮̖̜͂ ̵̢̠̭̈́̍y̶̢̛̪̭̗͙̐̋o̸̧̎̐̓̐ư̵̧̺̳̣̪̬͌̃̐̆̚͝r̸͙͊̈́̄ ̸̨̧̘̜̠̂͜s̶̻̤̍͐͊͝ǫ̷͚͙̟͉͑̆̈́u̵̺̖̿͒̌l̸̰̠͎͕͔͐̅̑.̵̮̤̘̯̹̑̀̅̒ͅ ̶̢̲͑̈͘͘͠ͅŃ̸̢͍̭̆͜͠í̵͖̫̗͍̱͚̻̀͋̊͝ẗ̸̳̭̼̜̑͊ö̸̫̻̍ ̴̩̗͎͂͗̄̂̉̐h̶̙͒͝ả̶̼̟̙͈̺̬̗͐̐̂̅̍́d̶̢̛͔̖̽̚ ̶̲̮̠͛̄̔̚n̸͓̙̪̭͛̋̉͆͝ö̴͖̫̜̦̪̤́̿̈̽͘͜͝ť̶̠̿̈́ ̷̛̠̩̂̓̈́̑̔c̴̹̙̹̻͉̤̈́͆l̷̛͕͐͛̌̇a̷̺͖̩̓͗i̷̼̞̱̦̜͈̋̂͐͊͂̏m̷̬͓̘͗̐́̚ẹ̴̡̱̥͉̻̦́̿̆̄̂͒̀d̶̘̝̙̟̺̝͋ ̷̨͇̪̆̔̆̃̈́̀å̴͖̟͍̟̬͈͑̂s̷̹͋̋̈́͋͒̒͘ ̷̯͊̔̓̑͆̏̈́m̶̗̰̰̀͗̒͊̏̏͠ã̷͚̋̒͆͒̋ṉ̷̨͍̺̩͎̱͊̔̏̄̊ỵ̵̜̹̰̠͖̽̀̇̂͗ ̸̺̙̮̌̂͐͜á̶̡̬͔̺̀̓ͅͅs̶̡̛͓͇̍̆͝͝ ̴͈͖̞͖̹̀̿͂̀̕̚̕ͅẏ̷̧̛̀̚͝ö̴͈́̀ư̶̞̳̋̎́͝͝ͅ,̷̫̰̳͆̏̌̅͛̔͝ ̴̡̰̩̳̞̲̃͌̃̈͝n̵̳͖̜͂̈́̽̑̇͜͠o̸͓̭͓̊͊r̸͙͍̰̲͓͑̕͝ ̴̨̳̻̣̝̤̏̎ẖ̸̆ḁ̷̛̫͂̿͒̀̉͠ş̶͇̻̹̟͑́͘̚ ̷̣̟̲̏̄̓̿̽̋̈G̶̲̙̟̓̚w̷̦̹̼͍͔̓̿̅̓͐͋̚y̸̳̬͇̮͑͂̀̊̀͊̄n̸͍̜͕̽̈̓͋̅͊̚͜.̷̞͇̖̥̬̹̯̏ ̶̨̛͈̔̽̅͑Y̷͚͐͆͂͌͆̾o̶̹̫̔̃̊̍͛̂u̵͇̬̒ ̴̥̮̠̪̳̍̒͘̚͝a̵̛̗͊̐͆l̶̲̙̺̼̍̓͌̿̎̔̈o̷̻̳̳̺͠ń̸̼̼̪̯̥̯̆̒̕ḛ̴̢͖͈͉͈̺͒̏͂̔̚ ̶̝́͂̈͠͝a̶̖̮̩̗͖̹͊͂̽r̴̜͈͍͈̈̓͆͘ͅê̶̼͕̜̥̺̬̏ ̷̼̬̪̻̜̀̈̌̅̆̈̕t̶̖̪̹̉̆h̷̻̰̠̽e̷̲̿̾͂̊̕͘̕ ̶͖̤̫̫̩̀͂̐͘ȩ̵͖̦̓̕n̷͔̙̖͋̆̏́̂̀͘͜ḑ̵̠̱̖̎͛͝ ̶̧͖̤̻̻͂͛̃̐͗ȯ̴͚́̅f̵͍̖̥̓̿͒̓͝ ̶̩͒̓͘͠ā̷̱̰͕̫͙̐̈̚͘͝ḷ̵̨͇̳̙͛̂̐ͅl̶̬̺̭͑̈́͋̐͝,̸̡̱̝̪̹̖̋̐͂̓̽͌̔ͅ ̶̮̮̼̍ų̷̘̙̹͔̆̈́̕n̶͉̓͝d̸̹̜̍̽̈́̍͑͠ȩ̶͖͙̣̺͙̎͒̉̚s̶̥̮̻̻̯̱̋̐̉̕͝ȩ̸͉̲̀͊͠r̶͔̩̀ͅv̵̳͖̩̖̇̓̑͌̈́̊ī̷̱̳̜̜̕ṇ̷̡̛̅̈́͂̎͝g̸̳͕̦̬̒̚ ̵̢̯͇͊͑͒́o̶̙̤̔͊f̸͙̗̫̓̔̋̕ ̸̡̤̪̥̖͉̘̀̽̍̓p̷͙͙͙̾̌ͅŗ̸̯̰̱͂̈́̎à̷̺̦̻̺̼̣̘͊ĩ̶̻̱̃͐s̶̩̀͗͋͝e̶̛͔̱͗͌ ̸͙̘̹͌͝ö̴̻͕͍̯̼̰́̋̾̑̌̄ṙ̸͎̻͈̹͚̙ ̶̬̳̏̽̕c̵̛̊̓͜r̶̲͗̔͆̏̎̕͠ó̸̡̯̹̙͔̥̯w̴̘͖̻̥̖̒͒͒̋̈́͝n̴̝̖͈̹͛̕ ̶̗̣͔̤͇̩͋͐̎͐͂ỵ̷͗̈́̿̾͗ó̵̜̺̟̯̟͎̺̋ǔ̴̧̼͉̩̫̠̒ ̸̹̦̲͓̤͂͘͝m̸̟̗̰̓̄͆̚͝į̶͇͈̽͐̕n̸̰̭̝͍̋̒̑d̵͇͉̲͖̊͆̾͜l̸͔͇̜͗é̸̡̨̦̺̊s̷̩̬̤͕̯̪̉̄͛͘š̶̤̰̩̝̩̺͜l̸͎͙͗̑̀̃͜y̷͇̾̆̎͆̄̉͝ ̵̹̬͋̉̿̓̍̌p̸̛̫͇̓͋̅́́͠ù̶͇̣̤̪̓̏̚͜r̵͈͗̑̌̀͆̚͝ṣ̴̛͉͍͋̃̂̕u̷͔͍̦̍͛́̀̀̈͝ͅe̸̗̥̽͜d̵̛͍̮̭͇͇͑̐̀̾͗̚.̶͕̟̿̚ ̸̝̃͑͝F̷̛̳̥͕͉̰̲̪̅ă̵̠̫̬̼͋r̷̠̈̈́̃̉͠͠ ̶͇̙̬̦̜̥̫̽̋̒̎t̸͈̫̻́͋͆̿̿̉͝ó̶̭͚͛̒̉ȍ̵̢̹͔̼̰͙̫̑̌̃̚ ̸̰͌̿̈̈͐g̶͈̽̇̿̈́͝ư̵̥̱̐̂͘͜t̵̼͉̜͇͑̕l̸̖̘͓̖̦̙͑̇̚͠e̵̛̩͕͐s̴͕͙̼̪̦͚̳̾̓͒̅͊̀š̷̪͕͕̾̇̇͊͘ ̸̨̩̝̳̔̇ͅẗ̸̟̉̈́̀͋͌̚o̵̢̝͎͇̓́̈͜͠ͅ ̸̢̫͓̂̆̑͑͘̚͝c̸͎̟̱͇̅̈́̿̆̃͒l̶̩̼̟͊̅͋̔ͅá̸̢̢̛͍͈̰́ĩ̷̧̜͎̳̼̚͠m̷̨̖̰͆̆ ̵̨̩͔͖̞̘̩̅͘ê̵̗̗̟̻̥͙̅͋̍̅̀ḭ̴̼̖͍͓́͝t̴͖̤͔̫̪͉̣͋͐̑̌͌́h̸̬̰̺̭̰̿͑͊͝ę̵̱͔̟͇̻͍͂̄̑̕̚r̴͓̟̳̄̒͝,̵̨̯̹̼̮̤̌̊̓̃ ̶͉͖̤̉͐̒̃w̷͔̝̙͖̠̑̃̏o̷̩͎̍̅͋̿̚͝r̴͕̼̦̦̈́̽̎̋r̴͖̝͊͒̒͋͌ī̶̱̱̥͕̦̅̐͗̄è̴̹͓̟͝͝͠d̷̖̙̫̹̤̀ ̶̞̔̀̄͆ͅo̵̪͉̟̓̍f̶̤̭͒͌͜ ̷̧͚̻͖̚y̵̩͇̺̘͆̿ơ̴̧͈̥̬̽͒̈́̚ͅu̴̬͝r̸̡̡͉̻͙͉̂ ̵͈̆͘͝p̸̧̮̲̞͍̖͔͗̇ỉ̶̺̲͙̩̮̘̌̀́̄͋t̸̡̛̲͖͔̲͋̿͂̂̎͠ ̵̦̞̟̈͛̓͝d̷̳͇̝̜̺̪̈e̵̙̖̩̱͙̠̽ͅē̸̗̖p̶̪̱̂̑̀ ̸̻̲̭̞͖̠͔̒͝ẅ̴̧̛̯́̒̽̕̕ͅį̷̝̜̬͎̭͗t̵̟̤͊͐͒͂̕̚h̵̝̟̮̲͐̌i̸̠͚̍͠n̶̘̖̟̻̗̪̏ ̴̱̿t̵͍̼̭̀h̶͚̠͍̥̩̫̺̑̋̄̀̇͛ḙ̴̡͉̲̭̻̿͐̎̊̐̈́ ̶̳̲́̈́̓͠͝ḩ̴͉̋̌̊͜ę̷̖͍͕̆́̓̑̕ͅá̵͍r̵̡̖̥̐̀̅ṯ̴̑ ̸͔̆͗͗̇̓͒̚s̷̯͖̍̓̿̐̉̚o̵͍̿ ̵̧̧̣͇̗̔̈̚̚c̴̹͖̳̘̀̆́̎͆̀̕ȑ̶̢͖̀̍̋͗̄ǘ̶̢̥͔͇̣̫̒̈̋͋̔ͅd̶̲́̌͒̄̎͗̊ȅ̶͓̺̟͎̼͊̏͐ḷ̸̨̬̜͎̼́ͅŷ̴͕̜͙͇̋̊̎̊͛ ̴̞̙̪̙͖̜̀t̴̡̨̨̟̪̭͌o̸̮͉̠̒̈́͋̆̓̋r̷̡͌n̸̡̮͍͆̓͛.̸̨̨̪̻͛͋͒̄ ̸̧̣̣̬̳̈́̎C̸̹̫̥͐̏̓͐̋̚͝ȗ̵͚̤̯͍̖͙̒̎͗̽̕͝ŗ̶̻͍̳̖̜̓͝s̴̡̛̭̠͍̠͕̕ě̸̪̺͖̊͐͐ͅḑ̸̜͈͍̙̎̔͗ ̷̪͓̬͍̍̉͘͘b̷̢͓͙͙̲̮̔̅̈́̐̐ȩ̷͓͎̭͔̲̿͒̆̀̀͜͝ỉ̷̯͕͙̥̬̆̊̐͑n̸̹͈̻̿̍̚ͅg̷̭͓̘̀̓͊̽̄s̸̢͈̳̼̐́ ̷̯͔̥̦̞͕̌͘ẅ̴̡̢͓̳͚͈̤́̏h̸̢̩̺̤̞̺̜̀ờ̶̝́̆̒̓̚s̸̡͈͔̼̠̊ẹ̷̀̏͗̄̋̈ ̷̹͓̒͋̆s̷̡͕̘̺̱̲̰̈̈̃̆̌t̷̼̖̮͂ę̵̅̈́͝͝͝p̴̛͍̩̟̙͎͌̓̈̿͗̚͜s̵̳̩͐̍̔̒̀͝ ̵̼͇̥̈́ȩ̴̜͎͉͔̤̋̅c̴̢̛̱̟̠̝̭͊͂͗̋h̸͕̮͍̩͓͛̽̎͆̅̌o̶̡̳̤̮͗̍ ̸̧̼̺͆͐̇ţ̴͙̗̮͖̩̦͛̋̈ḩ̶͖͔̜̲͓̎͊͋̐̄͠͝ĕ̵̩̲̄̀̄͂͘ ̵̉̓̔̂͜c̶̛̙̼̠͊̈̕̕o̴̡̺̿m̷̛̤͛͒͠i̸̯̤̝͊͐̇̃͠n̷͍̥̘͔͙̠̦̓g̶̤͔͚̰̻̊͌͌͐́̕ ̷͇̟́̈̉͐͋͠ď̸̨͉̘̅̀͌̐̕e̷̢̫̱̱̍͝͝a̴̧̡͙̺͒̐t̷̪̦̟͖͖͊͜h̴̨̦̠͕̰̰̾̓͘̕̕,̶̭̿͋̽̏̍̌̀ ̵̪̞̫͆̈̉w̷̱̘͈̫̿ͅh̵̫͋o̷͓̰̪͖̭͔̖͆̀̉͆̈̋s̶̛̠̼͉̾͌̑͠ę̶̡̥̺̙̩̽̊ ̴̢͕̜̫͕̣̗̓̔́̓͂̃͝g̵͖̞͖̈́̐̕o̷̗̅̎̀͐̋̚ȁ̵̗̜̯̲͔̣̎̈́̽̾͝l̶̲͖̍̂͘ ̴̨̝̰̫͎̼̮̍͂͛s̵̪̭̞̗͉̔̂́̈̀ͅţ̴̭͈͓̬͕̻̿̃̎͊͌̕̕ë̸̢͈͚͇̈̒ě̵̖̣̞̫͕̲̪͌̈́͑̓̒͆p̵̠̲͑̅̀͜͜͠ȩ̴̛̙̜͊̂̚d̶̺̮̣̱͛̕ ̶͖͖̦̒̕͠i̵͇̗̘͖̟̓̾̔n̶̩̗͚̦͍͕͒̆̒́̌ ̷̧̱͇̱̤̋̉̔̽̕b̴̮̗͉̜͉̉͒͒̾̈e̶̳̼͚͍̞͜͝ẗ̶̡̪̠̻̪͚̍̀̀͐r̶̫̐̋a̷̛̼͍͕̬̎̽̊͒̋ͅÿ̵͙̺͍̭̝́̎̇͗â̸͍̮͚̥l̷̡̙̤̲̎̆̂̈́͌ ̸̨̞͔̪̯̠͑̂̑͒̈́̊ä̷͓̰̺̖͇͎͊̇͐͊͌͝ṋ̶̡̮̀͜d̵̦͍̓̌̾̾̀͗ ̷̠̘̳̮̭̊̆̊̐͛̌̂s̶̡̠͓̩͋̚͘u̴͙͉͖̤͒f̶͕̺͖̲̯̈̔́̓̚͝f̷͇̼͚͚͕̉̀̀͌́͘͠ę̸͂̆̒͑̓̽͘ŗ̸̪̙̬͕̟͉̈́̾̏ȉ̵̫̯̔ṉ̴̺̄̑̕g̸̞̹͈̍͒̏̌͒̄̚ ̴͓̫̖͕̞̓͛̑͜ḧ̷̲͖̺̀̂͆͂o̴̘͔̫͙̹͆ẇ̵̬̺̰͉͉͎̦̄̇ ̸̛̼̤̞͉͘d̸͈̫͊̇͐͋̓̏̕ǎ̶̞̞̜͕̒̓̍̉r̶̰̣̙̗̲͉͒͛̒͊͆̕e̸̡̗̼̩̩̊ͅ ̷͇̇̊ÿ̴̡̧̫̳̙̜̺́̋͛̓̀͠o̴̳̦͉̊͒͋͘u̸̳̗̎͋̽́͒͂̕ ̵̧̨̤̰̘̀v̷͚͔̯͔͊̓̾̾͊͘ḯ̴̤̬̖̪̙̣̑͐̕͜͠ẹ̵̞̮͗̇͗́w̴̤̣̞͊ ̸̢̒͂b̸̺̳̣̣̭̭̚͜l̷̛̹̽̓͝i̴̭̫͔̝̖͈̒͝s̴͖̣̳̝͕̎̍̿̀͝s̸̱̦̜͉͓̍͐̿f̷̥̄̆͆̐̆̓͋ų̵̭̠̰̙͉̹̂̀͗́̍̌l̷̫̣̱͛̄̚n̸̼͕̫͎̖̯̄̂ë̵͙́̉̀͋̈͛ś̴̟̺̘͜ş̵͔͕͖̈́͜.̶̩̝́́̂́̏ ̸̢̠̦͕̈̐̚F̴͈͉̱̲̹͈͕̆ä̸̛̮̯̺͈̬̭̻̒̀̍͆̔ļ̷͓͓͉̝̐̓l̷̡͇̟͇̗̹͓̽ ̶̪̻̝͔̬͎͖̏̓͛̋f̵̧̪̙̠͋̿̓̉͗̎͠ȏ̴̻̤̹͕͍͜r̶̮̦͌ē̵̡̂̒̔̏͝v̷͈̹̉e̷̦̹̥̟̭͕̿̄̒̍̚̚r̵͓͇͚̜̈͋̉̏̓̕͘͜ ̸̨̠̮̥͇̰̋̇̽͝ṫ̸̛̙ơ̷̢̢̜̻̗̱͑͂̌̃͜ ̷̜̒̑̅̈̅͝š̶̨̢̟̼̜̹̌̂͐l̴̥̪͌̎͜ë̴͙̜́̎ͅę̷̼͙͉̓p̸̞̖̦͝,̴̞̯͇͐͂͒̿̆͜͝ ̶̡͕̦̭͓͓͘ǫ̴̧̞̹̱̱̾̒̈́̉̀n̸̛͉̻̝̺̱̖̄̈l̶̖̞̣̰̙̩̋͌̔y̶̟͇͕͂͌͗̄̿̈́̏ ̴̛̜̘̝̪̏̇̑̈́͋͜ẗ̷̙́̅͗̓ö̶͕̫̠́̾́ ̴̛̺̈́a̸̫͕̪͊͒͆̿́̊͠w̸̯̦̘͂ă̵̰̼͕̬͉͆̉k̵͓̀̈́̓͐ě̴͇̝̣n̵̫͚͕̫̰̈́̑͆ ̷̨̧̪͎̞͈̃̓͆̾ͅh̸̡͓̹̦́͗́̾͘͘̕͜ͅo̵̹̐̐̅́͒́ḽ̶͑ĺ̴͎̬̐̃̈́o̷͎̤͓͉̖͐̃́̄̅̊̕͜w̴̢̲͈̬͍͓̲͐̈̅͗̒̿̌.̵̱̺̹̝̖̽̇͋̿̽̏̀ ̷̪͔̓̈̒̚͜S̷͚͍̰̋ú̵̫͚́̏̈́͛͠͠c̶̬̺̔h̶̥̺̻̱̽̆̽̋̅́ ̷̨̼̖̣̯̱̐̂i̵̹͖̟͖̮̇̆s̵̥̺͒̒̑̒̔͘ ̷̫̥̳̥̔̀̈́̓ț̵̆̚h̸̬̹̤̝̘̿ę̷̬̻̍ ̷̧̥͈̄̓̆̑̎c̸̛̹͇̪̩̣̪̒̇̿͗͜u̵̫̱̼̦̾̀̈̈́͐̂̂r̴̭̃͋̈̎̀̉͜s̵̨̨͈͚̀̈̊͠ę̴̗͚͎̖̞͌̆̂̇͌͝ ̷̦͎̰̭̯̲̿ͅǒ̴̪͇͙̈̊f̴̹̰̪͍̞̅͜ͅ ̶̜̗̘̫̲́͒̿͘͝t̸̜̩̗̪̟̫̆͆h̸͇̼̻͔̙̼̽̀e̸̩̙̲͕̯̐̏̈́ ̸̦̮̦͘õ̵̗̉̌͑̓̕͠n̷̡̐̈́̄e̵̹͚̦̟̓̀̍̔̈́̄ ̶̟͓͕̀̉͝ẁ̵͕̂͌͐i̷̢̯͔̖̙̅̂̎͜ṱ̴͆̈́͛̅h̷̢̨̭̫̺̰͓̑̍͊̑̔ ̸̢̥͇̓̔̊͗p̴͍̤̄̚͝ͅở̷͔̺̖̜̭͖͂̓͗͜w̷̖̭͕͈̃͆̈́͆ę̷̢̼̟͚̰̏r̸̢͖̫̻̼͋̿͌̾͆ ̷̩̬͓͆̒͛̾a̸̞͇͖̙̟̅͆̀̋̆̆͝ǹ̴̗͙̆̒̾͒͛̕d̴̦̫̥̈́͆ ̶̻̌̓́̈̕ẁ̷̧̪̮̟̽͜i̶̩͇̙̋̌̽͜ͅl̵̩̲̟̠̯͌̅ͅĺ̷̥́͗ ̴̱͑̏͋͊̚ṫ̵̥̺̈́͛̎́ō̷͈̙ ̸͇͈͑s̴̭̘͂̽̈́̿̑͝ḷ̶̤̣̀̕a̸̢̫̖̱͊̔y̴̪̦͕͆ ̸͔̹̪͊̽̕Ġ̴̗̝͓̹̪̼̄̌͆͗̂ö̵͓̳̳̏͋̏͝͠ḍ̴̹̀s̶͈̬̠̱̞̋.̵͚̖̎̀̐̿́̚͝H̶̢̲̙͖͎͔͚̿̀̿̽͝o̶̮͉̖̜͕̟̾w̴̱͓̠̬̄̚ ̵̤͎̜̄̅d̵̲͓̝̜͎̺̏̋̌͜a̴͙͖̺͎̅̈́̍̈r̴̮̻̙̱̠͌͆̈e̵̥̼͖͙̱̊ ̴̧̦̪͚̪̩̍̈́̉y̸̙̮̔̈́̆̆̿̂́ơ̶̘̮̜͇̟̼͜ǔ̶̧̺̖̙ ̴͚̤̀̄p̴̩͇͔̦̈́r̶̡͕͆̾̆̿̏́̓è̶̯͚͔͑͂͑t̸̡̻̭̃͝e̵̼̊̄̓ñ̶̡̢̦̬̰̎͜ḋ̷̳͕̙̫̻̉̋̈ ̴͙͎̥̳̹̤̰̑͗t̶̰̭̤̺͐͑̾͐͝͠͠ö̷̩̺̩̯̳́̆̈́͜ ̸̗̗̟̀c̶̢͕̮̥̗̰͆a̴̛̖͙͎͐̔͂͛̚r̶̝̱̬̲͍͇͒̿ë̶̻̲̲̆̈́̓̑ ̵̖̻̰͊̎́͒͌w̵̢̳̺̒͗̅̒i̸̢͕̯͑̐͆͗͜͜t̴̜͎̭̽̍͆̓͘͘͠ͅḧ̴̜̹̳̈́̈́̒̕ ̸͖̏̇̎̈͝t̵͖̖̞͑͂̍̕͜ḧ̶̡̖͍̦͚̰͈́͛̒̌e̴̙̩̪̥͇͈͕͊ ̷̰̏̽̓̓̓w̵͍̦̤͖̔̒̌̉͘͠e̵̻̗͙̘̖̍͜͝i̶̡̧̳̥͇͎͜͝g̷̻̜͖̜̏͂̀̂̈́h̵͚̤͒́̾̄̊̆t̴͇̼́̽̈́̚͝͠ ̷̺̳̤͙̝̉o̵͎̣̺͍͇̻̠͆̂f̵̣̤͙̩͍̲̻̒͝ ̶͕̱̜̓͌͋̿̉͠m̷̲̺̲̫̳̘̈̉͠ǫ̶̛͈̰̲̞̰͖̑́ù̸̠͙̬̿͘n̸̳̟̰̓͊̀̿͌̕t̴̛̠͔̻̩̹̊͐̄ḁ̵̢̣̖̽̌̓͑́͜͠i̸̜̞͌͛̒͂̎́͠n̶͎̺̾s̷͙̈́́̓͒ ̸̛̬͔͍̅͜ó̴͈̳͚̤̎̃̀̄ͅn̵̮̖̜͂ ̵̢̠̭̈́̍y̶̢̛̪̭̗͙̐̋o̸̧̎̐̓̐ư̵̧̺̳̣̪̬͌̃̐̆̚͝r̸͙͊̈́̄ ̸̨̧̘̜̠̂͜s̶̻̤̍͐͊͝ǫ̷͚͙̟͉͑̆̈́u̵̺̖̿͒̌l̸̰̠͎͕͔͐̅̑.̵̮̤̘̯̹̑̀̅̒ͅ ̶̢̲͑̈͘͘͠ͅŃ̸̢͍̭̆͜͠í̵͖̫̗͍̱͚̻̀͋̊͝ẗ̸̳̭̼̜̑͊ö̸̫̻̍ ̴̩̗͎͂͗̄̂̉̐h̶̙͒͝ả̶̼̟̙͈̺̬̗͐̐̂̅̍́d̶̢̛͔̖̽̚ ̶̲̮̠͛̄̔̚n̸͓̙̪̭͛̋̉͆͝ö̴͖̫̜̦̪̤́̿̈̽͘͜͝ť̶̠̿̈́ ̷̛̠̩̂̓̈́̑̔c̴̹̙̹̻͉̤̈́͆l̷̛͕͐͛̌̇a̷̺͖̩̓͗i̷̼̞̱̦̜͈̋̂͐͊͂̏m̷̬͓̘͗̐́̚ẹ̴̡̱̥͉̻̦́̿̆̄̂͒̀d̶̘̝̙̟̺̝͋ ̷̨͇̪̆̔̆̃̈́̀å̴͖̟͍̟̬͈͑̂s̷̹͋̋̈́͋͒̒͘ ̷̯͊̔̓̑͆̏̈́m̶̗̰̰̀͗̒͊̏̏͠ã̷͚̋̒͆͒̋ṉ̷̨͍̺̩͎̱͊̔̏̄̊ỵ̵̜̹̰̠͖̽̀̇̂͗ ̸̺̙̮̌̂͐͜á̶̡̬͔̺̀̓ͅͅs̶̡̛͓͇̍̆͝͝ ̴͈͖̞͖̹̀̿͂̀̕̚̕ͅẏ̷̧̛̀̚͝ö̴͈́̀ư̶̞̳̋̎́͝͝ͅ,̷̫̰̳͆̏̌̅͛̔͝ ̴̡̰̩̳̞̲̃͌̃̈͝n̵̳͖̜͂̈́̽̑̇͜͠o̸͓̭͓̊͊r̸͙͍̰̲͓͑̕͝ ̴̨̳̻̣̝̤̏̎ẖ̸̆ḁ̷̛̫͂̿͒̀̉͠ş̶͇̻̹̟͑́͘̚ ̷̣̟̲̏̄̓̿̽̋̈G̶̲̙̟̓̚w̷̦̹̼͍͔̓̿̅̓͐͋̚y̸̳̬͇̮͑͂̀̊̀͊̄n̸͍̜͕̽̈̓͋̅͊̚͜.̷̞͇̖̥̬̹̯̏ ̶̨̛͈̔̽̅͑Y̷͚͐͆͂͌͆̾o̶̹̫̔̃̊̍͛̂u̵͇̬̒ ̴̥̮̠̪̳̍̒͘̚͝a̵̛̗͊̐͆l̶̲̙̺̼̍̓͌̿̎̔̈o̷̻̳̳̺͠ń̸̼̼̪̯̥̯̆̒̕ḛ̴̢͖͈͉͈̺͒̏͂̔̚ ̶̝́͂̈͠͝a̶̖̮̩̗͖̹͊͂̽r̴̜͈͍͈̈̓͆͘ͅê̶̼͕̜̥̺̬̏ ̷̼̬̪̻̜̀̈̌̅̆̈̕t̶̖̪̹̉̆h̷̻̰̠̽e̷̲̿̾͂̊̕͘̕ ̶͖̤̫̫̩̀͂̐͘ȩ̵͖̦̓̕n̷͔̙̖͋̆̏́̂̀͘͜ḑ̵̠̱̖̎͛͝ ̶̧͖̤̻̻͂͛̃̐͗ȯ̴͚́̅f̵͍̖̥̓̿͒̓͝ ̶̩͒̓͘͠ā̷̱̰͕̫͙̐̈̚͘͝ḷ̵̨͇̳̙͛̂̐ͅl̶̬̺̭͑̈́͋̐͝,̸̡̱̝̪̹̖̋̐͂̓̽͌̔ͅ ̶̮̮̼̍ų̷̘̙̹͔̆̈́̕n̶͉̓͝d̸̹̜̍̽̈́̍͑͠ȩ̶͖͙̣̺͙̎͒̉̚s̶̥̮̻̻̯̱̋̐̉̕͝ȩ̸͉̲̀͊͠r̶͔̩̀ͅv̵̳͖̩̖̇̓̑͌̈́̊ī̷̱̳̜̜̕ṇ̷̡̛̅̈́͂̎͝g̸̳͕̦̬̒̚ ̵̢̯͇͊͑͒́o̶̙̤̔͊f̸͙̗̫̓̔̋̕ ̸̡̤̪̥̖͉̘̀̽̍̓p̷͙͙͙̾̌ͅŗ̸̯̰̱͂̈́̎à̷̺̦̻̺̼̣̘͊ĩ̶̻̱̃͐s̶̩̀͗͋͝e̶̛͔̱͗͌ ̸͙̘̹͌͝ö̴̻͕͍̯̼̰́̋̾̑̌̄ṙ̸͎̻͈̹͚̙ ̶̬̳̏̽̕c̵̛̊̓͜r̶̲͗̔͆̏̎̕͠ó̸̡̯̹̙͔̥̯w̴̘͖̻̥̖̒͒͒̋̈́͝n̴̝̖͈̹͛̕ ̶̗̣͔̤͇̩͋͐̎͐͂ỵ̷͗̈́̿̾͗ó̵̜̺̟̯̟͎̺̋ǔ̴̧̼͉̩̫̠̒ ̸̹̦̲͓̤͂͘͝m̸̟̗̰̓̄͆̚͝į̶͇͈̽͐̕n̸̰̭̝͍̋̒̑d̵͇͉̲͖̊͆̾͜l̸͔͇̜͗é̸̡̨̦̺̊s̷̩̬̤͕̯̪̉̄͛͘š̶̤̰̩̝̩̺͜l̸͎͙͗̑̀̃͜y̷͇̾̆̎͆̄̉͝ ̵̹̬͋̉̿̓̍̌p̸̛̫͇̓͋̅́́͠ù̶͇̣̤̪̓̏̚͜r̵͈͗̑̌̀͆̚͝ṣ̴̛͉͍͋̃̂̕u̷͔͍̦̍͛́̀̀̈͝ͅe̸̗̥̽͜d̵̛͍̮̭͇͇͑̐̀̾͗̚.̶͕̟̿̚ ̸̝̃͑͝F̷̛̳̥͕͉̰̲̪̅ă̵̠̫̬̼͋r̷̠̈̈́̃̉͠͠ ̶͇̙̬̦̜̥̫̽̋̒̎t̸͈̫̻́͋͆̿̿̉͝ó̶̭͚͛̒̉ȍ̵̢̹͔̼̰͙̫̑̌̃̚ ̸̰͌̿̈̈͐g̶͈̽̇̿̈́͝ư̵̥̱̐̂͘͜t̵̼͉̜͇͑̕l̸̖̘͓̖̦̙͑̇̚͠e̵̛̩͕͐s̴͕͙̼̪̦͚̳̾̓͒̅͊̀š̷̪͕͕̾̇̇͊͘ ̸̨̩̝̳̔̇ͅẗ̸̟̉̈́̀͋͌̚o̵̢̝͎͇̓́̈͜͠ͅ ̸̢̫͓̂̆̑͑͘̚͝c̸͎̟̱͇̅̈́̿̆̃͒l̶̩̼̟͊̅͋̔ͅá̸̢̢̛͍͈̰́ĩ̷̧̜͎̳̼̚͠m̷̨̖̰͆̆USELESSī̶̱̱̥͕̦̅̐͗̄è̴̹͓̟͝͝͠d̷̖̙̫̹̤̀ ̶̞̔̀̄͆ͅo̵̪͉̟̓̍f̶̤̭͒͌͜ ̷̧͚̻͖̚y̵̩͇̺̘͆̿ơ̴̧͈̥̬̽͒̈́̚ͅu̴̬͝r̸̡̡͉̻͙͉̂ ̵͈̆͘͝p̸̧̮̲̞͍̖͔͗̇ỉ̶̺̲͙̩̮̘̌̀́̄͋t̸̡̛̲͖͔̲͋̿͂̂̎͠ ̵̦̞̟̈͛̓͝d̷̳͇̝̜̺̪̈e̵̙̖̩̱͙̠̽ͅē̸̗̖p̶̪̱̂̑̀ ̸̻̲̭̞͖̠͔̒͝ẅ̴̧̛̯́̒̽̕̕ͅį̷̝̜̬͎̭͗t̵̟̤͊͐͒͂̕̚h̵̝̟̮̲͐̌i̸̠͚̍͠n̶̘̖̟̻̗̪̏ ̴̱̿t̵͍̼̭̀h̶͚̠͍̥̩̫̺̑̋̄̀̇͛ḙ̴̡͉̲̭̻̿͐̎̊̐̈́ ̶̳̲́̈́̓͠͝ḩ̴͉̋̌̊͜ę̷̖͍͕̆́̓̑̕ͅá̵͍r̵̡̖̥̐̀̅ṯ̴̑ ̸͔̆͗͗̇̓͒̚s̷̯͖̍̓̿̐̉̚o̵͍̿ ̵̧̧̣͇̗̔̈̚̚c̴̹͖̳̘̀̆́̎͆̀̕ȑ̶̢͖̀̍̋͗̄ǘ̶̢̥͔͇̣̫̒̈̋͋̔ͅd̶̲́̌͒̄̎͗̊ȅ̶͓̺̟͎̼͊̏͐ḷ̸̨̬̜͎̼́ͅŷ̴͕̜͙͇̋̊̎̊͛ ̴̞̙̪̙͖̜̀t̴̡̨̨̟̪̭͌o̸̮͉̠̒̈́͋̆̓̋r̷̡͌n̸̡̮͍͆̓͛.̸̨̨̪̻͛͋͒̄ ̸̧̣̣̬̳̈́̎C̸̹̫̥͐̏̓͐̋̚͝ȗ̵͚̤̯͍̖͙̒̎͗̽̕͝ŗ̶̻͍̳̖̜̓͝s̴̡̛̭̠͍̠͕̕ě̸̪̺͖̊͐͐ͅḑ̸̜͈͍̙̎̔͗ ̷̪͓̬͍̍̉͘͘b̷̢͓͙͙̲̮̔̅̈́̐̐ȩ̷͓͎̭͔̲̿͒̆̀̀͜͝ỉ̷̯͕͙̥̬̆̊̐͑n̸̹͈̻̿̍̚ͅg̷̭͓̘̀̓͊̽̄s̸̢͈̳̼̐́ ̷̯͔̥̦̞͕̌͘ẅ̴̡̢͓̳͚͈̤́̏h̸̢̩̺̤̞̺̜̀ờ̶̝́̆̒̓̚s̸̡͈͔̼̠̊ẹ̷̀̏͗̄̋̈ ̷̹͓̒͋̆s̷̡͕̘̺̱̲̰̈̈̃̆̌t̷̼̖̮͂ę̵̅̈́͝͝͝p̴̛͍̩̟̙͎͌̓̈̿͗̚͜s̵̳̩͐̍̔̒̀͝ ̵̼͇̥̈́ȩ̴̜͎͉͔̤̋̅c̴̢̛̱̟̠̝̭͊͂͗̋h̸͕̮͍̩͓͛̽̎͆̅̌o̶̡̳̤̮͗̍ ̸̧̼̺͆͐̇ţ̴͙̗̮͖̩̦͛̋̈ḩ̶͖͔̜̲͓̎͊͋̐̄͠͝ĕ̵̩̲̄̀̄͂͘ ̵̉̓̔̂͜c̶̛̙̼̠͊̈̕̕o̴̡̺̿m̷̛̤͛͒͠i̸̯̤̝͊͐̇̃͠n̷͍̥̘͔͙̠̦̓g̶̤͔͚̰̻̊͌͌͐́̕ ̷͇̟́̈̉͐͋͠ď̸̨͉̘̅̀͌̐̕e̷̢̫̱̱̍͝͝a̴̧̡͙̺͒̐t̷̪̦̟͖͖͊͜h̴̨̦̠͕̰̰̾̓͘̕̕,̶̭̿͋̽̏̍̌̀ ̵̪̞̫͆̈̉w̷̱̘͈̫̿ͅh̵̫͋o̷͓̰̪͖̭͔̖͆̀̉͆̈̋s̶̛̠̼͉̾͌̑͠ę̶̡̥̺̙̩̽̊ ̴̢͕̜̫͕̣̗̓̔́̓͂̃͝g̵͖̞͖̈́̐̕o̷̗̅̎̀͐̋̚ȁ̵̗̜̯̲͔̣̎̈́̽̾͝l̶̲͖̍̂͘ ̴̨̝̰̫͎̼̮̍͂͛s̵̪̭̞̗͉̔̂́̈̀ͅţ̴̭͈͓̬͕̻̿̃̎͊͌̕̕ë̸̢͈͚͇̈̒ě̵̖̣̞̫͕̲̪͌̈́͑̓̒͆p̵̠̲͑̅̀͜͜͠ȩ̴̛̙̜͊̂̚d̶̺̮̣̱͛̕ ̶͖͖̦̒̕͠i̵͇̗̘͖̟̓̾̔n̶̩̗͚̦͍͕͒̆̒́̌ ̷̧̱͇̱̤̋̉̔̽̕b̴̮̗͉̜͉̉͒͒̾̈e̶̳̼͚͍̞͜͝ẗ̶̡̪̠̻̪͚̍̀̀͐r̶̫̐̋a̷̛̼͍͕̬̎̽̊͒̋ͅÿ̵͙̺͍̭̝́̎̇͗â̸͍̮͚̥l̷̡̙̤̲̎̆̂̈́͌ ̸̨̞͔̪̯̠͑̂̑͒̈́̊ä̷͓̰̺̖͇͎͊̇͐͊͌͝ṋ̶̡̮̀͜d̵̦͍̓̌̾̾̀͗ ̷̠̘̳̮̭̊̆̊̐͛̌̂s̶̡̠͓̩͋̚͘u̴͙͉͖̤͒f̶͕̺͖̲̯̈̔́̓̚͝f̷͇̼͚͚͕̉̀̀͌́͘͠ę̸͂̆̒͑̓̽͘ŗ̸̪̙̬͕̟͉̈́̾̏ȉ̵̫̯̔ṉ̴̺̄̑̕g̸̞̹͈̍͒̏̌͒̄̚ ̴͓̫̖͕̞̓͛̑͜ḧ̷̲͖̺̀̂͆͂o̴̘͔̫͙̹͆ẇ̵̬̺̰͉͉͎̦̄̇ ̸̛̼̤̞͉͘d̸͈̫͊̇͐͋̓̏̕ǎ̶̞̞̜͕̒̓̍̉r̶̰̣̙̗̲͉͒͛̒͊͆̕e̸̡̗̼̩̩̊ͅ ̷͇̇̊ÿ̴̡̧̫̳̙̜̺́̋͛̓̀͠o̴̳̦͉̊͒͋͘u̸̳̗̎͋̽́͒͂̕ ̵̧̨̤̰̘̀v̷͚͔̯͔͊̓̾̾͊͘ḯ̴̤̬̖̪̙̣̑͐̕͜͠ẹ̵̞̮͗̇͗́w̴̤̣̞͊ ̸̢̒͂b̸̺̳̣̣̭̭̚͜l̷̛̹̽̓͝i̴̭̫͔̝̖͈̒͝s̴͖̣̳̝͕̎̍̿̀͝s̸̱̦̜͉͓̍͐̿f̷̥̄̆͆̐̆̓͋ų̵̭̠̰̙͉̹̂̀͗́̍̌l̷̫̣̱͛̄̚n̸̼͕̫͎̖̯̄̂ë̵͙́̉̀͋̈͛ś̴̟̺̘͜ş̵͔͕͖̈́͜.̶̩̝́́̂́̏ ̸̢̠̦͕̈̐̚F̴͈͉̱̲̹͈͕̆ä̸̛̮̯̺͈̬̭̻̒̀̍͆̔ļ̷͓͓͉̝̐̓l̷̡͇̟͇̗̹͓̽ ̶̪̻̝͔̬͎͖̏̓͛̋f̵̧̪̙̠͋̿̓̉͗̎͠ȏ̴̻̤̹͕͍͜r̶̮̦͌ē̵̡̂̒̔̏͝v̷͈̹̉e̷̦̹̥̟̭͕̿̄̒̍̚̚r̵͓͇͚̜̈͋̉̏̓̕͘͜ ̸̨̠̮̥͇̰̋̇̽͝ṫ̸̛̙ơ̷̢̢̜̻̗̱͑͂̌̃͜ ̷̜̒̑̅̈̅͝š̶̨̢̟̼̜̹̌̂͐l̴̥̪͌̎͜ë̴͙̜́̎ͅę̷̼͙͉̓p̸̞̖̦͝,̴̞̯͇͐͂͒̿̆͜͝ ̶̡͕̦̭͓͓͘ǫ̴̧̞̹̱̱̾̒̈́̉̀n̸̛͉̻̝̺̱̖̄̈l̶̖̞̣̰̙̩̋͌̔y̶̟͇͕͂͌͗̄̿̈́̏ ̴̛̜̘̝̪̏̇̑̈́͋͜ẗ̷̙́̅͗̓ö̶͕̫̠́̾́ ̴̛̺̈́a̸̫͕̪͊͒͆̿́̊͠w̸̯̦̘͂ă̵̰̼͕̬͉͆̉k̵͓̀̈́̓͐ě̴͇̝̣n̵̫͚͕̫̰̈́̑͆ ̷̨̧̪͎̞͈̃̓͆̾ͅh̸̡͓̹̦́͗́̾͘͘̕͜ͅo̵̹̐̐̅́͒́ḽ̶͑ĺ̴͎̬̐̃̈́o̷͎̤͓͉̖͐̃́̄̅̊̕͜w̴̢̲͈̬͍͓̲͐̈̅͗̒̿̌.̵̱̺̹̝̖̽̇͋̿̽̏̀ ̷̪͔̓̈̒̚͜S̷͚͍̰̋ú̵̫͚́̏̈́͛͠͠c̶̬̺̔h̶̥̺̻̱̽̆̽̋̅́ ̷̨̼̖̣̯̱̐̂i̵̹͖̟͖̮̇̆s̵̥̺͒̒̑̒̔͘ ̷̫̥̳̥̔̀̈́̓ț̵̆̚h̸̬̹̤̝̘̿ę̷̬̻̍ ̷̧̥͈̄̓̆̑̎c̸̛̹͇̪̩̣̪̒̇̿͗͜u̵̫̱̼̦̾̀̈̈́͐̂̂r̴̭̃͋̈̎̀̉͜s̵̨̨͈͚̀̈̊͠ę̴̗͚͎̖̞͌̆̂̇͌͝ ̷̦͎̰̭̯̲̿ͅǒ̴̪͇͙̈̊f̴̹̰̪͍̞̅͜ͅ ̶̜̗̘̫̲́͒̿͘͝t̸̜̩̗̪̟̫̆͆h̸͇̼̻͔̙̼̽̀e̸̩̙̲͕̯̐̏̈́ ̸̦̮̦͘õ̵̗̉̌͑̓̕͠n̷̡̐̈́̄e̵̹͚̦̟̓̀̍̔̈́̄ ̶̟͓͕̀̉͝ẁ̵͕̂͌͐i̷̢̯͔̖̙̅̂̎͜ṱ̴͆̈́͛̅h̷̢̨̭̫̺̰͓̑̍͊̑̔ ̸̢̥͇̓̔̊͗p̴͍̤̄̚͝ͅở̷͔̺̖̜̭͖͂̓͗͜w̷̖̭͕͈̃͆̈́͆ę̷̢̼̟͚̰̏r̸̢͖̫̻̼͋̿͌̾͆ ̷̩̬͓͆̒͛̾a̸̞͇͖̙̟̅͆̀̋̆̆͝ǹ̴̗͙̆̒̾͒͛̕d̴̦̫̥̈́͆ ̶̻̌̓́̈̕ẁ̷̧̪̮̟̽͜i̶̩͇̙̋̌̽͜ͅl̵̩̲̟̠̯͌̅ͅĺ̷̥́͗ ̴̱͑̏͋͊̚ṫ̵̥̺̈́͛̎́ō̷͈̙ ̸͇͈͑s̴̭̘͂̽̈́̿̑͝ḷ̶̤̣̀̕a̸̢̫̖̱͊̔y̴̪̦͕͆ ̸͔̹̪͊̽̕Ġ̴̗̝͓̹̪̼̄̌͆͗̂ö̵͓̳̳̏͋̏͝͠ḍ̴̹̀s̶͈̬̠̱̞̋.̵͚̖̎̀̐̿́̚͝H̶̢̲̙͖͎͔͚̿̀̿̽͝o̶̮͉̖̜͕̟̾w̴̱͓̠̬̄̚ ̵̤͎̜̄̅d̵̲͓̝̜͎̺̏̋̌͜a̴͙͖̺͎̅̈́̍̈r̴̮̻̙̱̠͌͆̈e̵̥̼͖͙̱̊ ̴̧̦̪͚̪̩̍̈́̉y̸̙̮̔̈́̆̆̿̂́ơ̶̘̮̜͇̟̼͜ǔ̶̧̺̖̙ ̴͚̤̀̄p̴̩͇͔̦̈́r̶̡͕͆̾̆̿̏́̓è̶̯͚͔͑͂͑t̸̡̻̭̃͝e̵̼̊̄̓ñ̶̡̢̦̬̰̎͜ḋ̷̳͕̙̫̻̉̋̈ ̴͙͎̥̳̹̤̰̑͗t̶̰̭̤̺͐͑̾͐͝͠͠ö̷̩̺̩̯̳́̆̈́͜ ̸̗̗̟̀c̶̢͕̮̥̗̰͆a̴̛̖͙͎͐̔͂͛̚r̶̝̱̬̲͍͇͒̿ë̶̻̲̲̆̈́̓̑ ̵̖̻̰͊̎́͒͌w̵̢̳̺̒͗̅̒i̸̢͕̯͑̐͆͗͜͜t̴̜͎̭̽̍͆̓͘͘͠ͅḧ̴̜̹̳̈́̈́̒̕ ̸͖̏̇̎̈͝t̵͖̖̞͑͂̍̕͜ḧ̶̡̖͍̦͚̰͈́͛̒̌e̴̙̩̪̥͇͈͕͊ ̷̰̏̽̓̓̓w̵͍̦̤͖̔̒̌̉͘͠e̵̻̗͙̘̖̍͜͝i̶̡̧̳̥͇͎͜͝g̷̻̜͖̜̏͂̀̂̈́h̵͚̤͒́̾̄̊̆t̴͇̼́̽̈́̚͝͠ ̷̺̳̤͙̝̉o̵͎̣̺͍͇̻̠͆̂f̵̣̤͙̩͍̲̻̒͝ ̶͕̱̜̓͌͋̿̉͠m̷̲̺̲̫̳̘̈̉͠ǫ̶̛͈̰̲̞̰͖̑́ù̸̠͙̬̿͘n̸̳̟̰̓͊̀̿͌̕t̴̛̠͔̻̩̹̊͐̄ḁ̵̢̣̖̽̌̓͑́͜͠i̸̜̞͌͛̒͂̎́͠n̶͎̺̾s̷͙̈́́̓͒ ̸̛̬͔͍̅͜ó̴͈̳͚̤̎̃̀̄ͅn̵̮̖̜͂ ̵̢̠̭̈́̍y̶̢̛̪̭̗͙̐̋o̸̧̎̐̓̐ư̵̧̺̳̣̪̬͌̃̐̆̚͝r̸͙͊̈́̄ ̸̨̧̘̜̠̂͜s̶̻̤̍͐͊͝ǫ̷͚͙̟͉͑̆̈́u̵̺̖̿͒̌l̸̰̠͎͕͔͐̅̑.̵̮̤̘̯̹̑̀̅̒ͅ ̶̢̲͑̈͘͘͠ͅŃ̸̢͍̭̆͜͠í̵͖̫̗͍̱͚̻̀͋̊͝ẗ̸̳̭̼̜̑͊ö̸̫̻̍ ̴̩̗͎͂͗̄̂̉̐h̶̙͒͝ả̶̼̟̙͈̺̬̗͐̐̂̅̍́d̶̢̛͔̖̽̚ ̶̲̮̠͛̄̔̚n̸͓̙̪̭͛̋̉͆͝ö̴͖̫̜̦̪̤́̿̈̽͘͜͝ť̶̠̿̈́ ̷̛̠̩̂̓̈́̑̔c̴̹̙̹̻͉̤̈́͆l̷̛͕͐͛̌̇a̷̺͖̩̓͗i̷̼̞̱̦̜͈̋̂͐͊͂̏m̷̬͓̘͗̐́̚ẹ̴̡̱̥͉̻̦́̿̆̄̂͒̀d̶̘̝̙̟̺̝͋ ̷̨͇̪̆̔̆̃̈́̀å̴͖̟͍̟̬͈͑̂s̷̹͋̋̈́͋͒̒͘ ̷̯͊̔̓̑͆̏̈́m̶̗̰̰̀͗̒͊̏̏͠ã̷͚̋̒͆͒̋ṉ̷̨͍̺̩͎̱͊̔̏̄̊ỵ̵̜̹̰̠͖̽̀̇̂͗ ̸̺̙̮̌̂͐͜á̶̡̬͔̺̀̓ͅͅs̶̡̛͓͇̍̆͝͝ ̴͈͖̞͖̹̀̿͂̀̕̚̕ͅẏ̷̧̛̀̚͝ö̴͈́̀ư̶̞̳̋̎́͝͝ͅ,̷̫̰̳͆̏̌̅͛̔͝ ̴̡̰̩̳̞̲̃͌̃̈͝n̵̳͖̜͂̈́̽̑̇͜͠o̸͓̭͓̊͊r̸͙͍̰̲͓͑̕͝ ̴̨̳̻̣̝̤̏̎ẖ̸̆ḁ̷̛̫͂̿͒̀̉͠ş̶͇̻̹̟͑́͘̚ ̷̣̟̲̏̄̓̿̽̋̈G̶̲̙̟̓̚w̷̦̹̼͍͔̓̿̅̓͐͋̚y̸̳̬͇̮͑͂̀̊̀͊̄n̸͍̜͕̽̈̓͋̅͊̚͜.̷̞͇̖̥̬̹̯̏ ̶̨̛͈̔̽̅͑Y̷͚͐͆͂͌͆̾o̶̹̫̔̃̊̍͛̂u̵͇̬̒ ̴̥̮̠̪̳̍̒͘̚͝a̵̛̗͊̐͆l̶̲̙̺̼̍̓͌̿̎̔̈o̷̻̳̳̺͠ń̸̼̼̪̯̥̯̆̒̕ḛ̴̢͖͈͉͈̺͒̏͂̔̚ ̶̝́͂̈͠͝a̶̖̮̩̗͖̹͊͂̽r̴̜͈͍͈̈̓͆͘ͅê̶̼͕̜̥̺̬̏ ̷̼̬̪̻̜̀̈̌̅̆̈̕t̶̖̪̹̉̆h̷̻̰̠̽e̷̲̿̾͂̊̕͘̕ ̶͖̤̫̫̩̀͂̐͘ȩ̵͖̦̓̕n̷͔̙̖͋̆̏́̂̀͘͜ḑ̵̠̱̖̎͛͝ ̶̧͖̤̻̻͂͛̃̐͗ȯ̴͚́̅f̵͍̖̥̓̿͒̓͝ ̶̩͒̓͘͠ā̷̱̰͕̫͙̐̈̚͘͝ḷ̵̨͇̳̙͛̂̐ͅl̶̬̺̭͑̈́͋̐͝,̸̡̱̝̪̹̖̋̐͂̓̽͌̔ͅ ̶̮̮̼̍ų̷̘̙̹͔̆̈́̕n̶͉̓͝d̸̹̜̍̽̈́̍͑͠ȩ̶͖͙̣̺͙̎͒̉̚s̶̥̮̻̻̯̱̋̐̉̕͝ȩ̸͉̲̀͊͠r̶͔̩̀ͅv̵̳͖̩̖̇̓̑͌̈́̊ī̷̱̳̜̜̕ṇ̷̡̛̅̈́͂̎͝g̸̳͕̦̬̒̚ ̵̢̯͇͊͑͒́o̶̙̤̔͊f̸͙̗̫̓̔̋̕ ̸̡̤̪̥̖͉̘̀̽̍̓p̷͙͙͙̾̌ͅŗ̸̯̰̱͂̈́̎à̷̺̦̻̺̼̣̘͊ĩ̶̻̱̃͐s̶̩̀͗͋͝e̶̛͔̱͗͌ ̸͙̘̹͌͝ö̴̻͕͍̯̼̰́̋̾̑̌̄ṙ̸͎̻͈̹͚̙ ̶̬̳̏̽̕c̵̛̊̓͜r̶̲͗̔͆̏̎̕͠ó̸̡̯̹̙͔̥̯w̴̘͖̻̥̖̒͒͒̋̈́͝n̴̝̖͈̹͛̕ ̶̗̣͔̤͇̩͋͐̎͐͂ỵ̷͗̈́̿̾͗ó̵̜̺̟̯̟͎̺̋ǔ̴̧̼͉̩̫̠̒ ̸̹̦̲͓̤͂͘͝m̸̟̗̰̓̄͆̚͝į̶͇͈̽͐̕n̸̰̭̝͍̋̒̑d̵͇͉̲͖̊͆̾͜l̸͔͇̜͗é̸̡̨̦̺̊s̷̩̬̤͕̯̪̉̄͛͘š̶̤̰̩̝̩̺͜l̸͎͙͗̑̀̃͜y̷͇̾̆̎͆̄̉͝ ̵̹̬͋̉̿̓̍̌p̸̛̫͇̓͋̅́́͠ù̶͇̣̤̪̓̏̚͜r̵͈͗̑̌̀͆̚͝ṣ̴̛͉͍͋̃̂̕u̷͔͍̦̍͛́̀̀̈͝ͅe̸̗̥̽͜d̵̛͍̮̭͇͇͑̐̀̾͗̚.̶͕̟̿̚ ̸̝̃͑͝F̷̛̳̥͕͉̰̲̪̅ă̵̠̫̬̼͋r̷̠̈̈́̃̉͠͠ ̶͇̙̬̦̜̥̫̽̋̒̎t̸͈̫̻́͋͆̿̿̉͝ó̶̭͚͛̒̉ȍ̵̢̹͔̼̰͙̫̑̌̃̚ ̸̰͌̿̈̈͐g̶͈̽̇̿̈́͝ư̵̥̱̐̂͘͜t̵̼͉̜͇͑̕l̸̖̘͓̖̦̙͑̇̚͠e̵̛̩͕͐s̴͕͙̼̪̦͚̳̾̓͒̅͊̀š̷̪͕͕̾̇̇͊͘ ̸̨̩̝̳̔̇ͅẗ̸̟̉̈́̀͋͌̚o̵̢̝͎͇̓́̈͜͠ͅ ̸̢̫͓̂̆̑͑͘̚͝c̸͎̟̱͇̅̈́̿̆̃͒l̶̩̼̟͊̅͋̔ͅá̸̢̢̛͍͈̰́ĩ̷̧̜͎̳̼̚͠m̷̨̖̰͆̆ ̵̨̩͔͖̞̘̩̅͘ê̵̗̗̟̻̥͙̅͋̍̅̀ḭ̴̼̖͍͓́͝t̴͖̤͔̫̪͉̣͋͐̑̌͌́h̸̬̰̺̭̰̿͑͊͝ę̵̱͔̟͇̻͍͂̄̑̕̚r̴͓̟̳̄̒͝,̵̨̯̹̼̮̤̌̊̓̃ ̶͉͖̤̉͐̒̃w̷͔̝̙͖̠̑̃̏o̷̩͎̍̅͋̿̚͝r̴͕̼̦̦̈́̽̎̋r̴͖̝͊͒̒͋͌ī̶̱̱̥͕̦̅̐͗̄è̴̹͓̟͝͝͠d̷̖̙̫̹̤̀ ̶̞̔̀̄͆ͅo̵̪͉̟̓̍f̶̤̭͒͌͜ ̷̧͚̻͖̚y̵̩͇̺̘͆̿ơ̴̧͈̥̬̽͒̈́̚ͅu̴̬͝r̸̡̡͉̻͙͉̂ ̵͈̆͘͝p̸̧̮̲̞͍̖͔͗̇ỉ̶̺̲͙̩̮̘̌̀́̄͋t̸̡̛̲͖͔̲͋̿͂̂̎͠ ̵̦̞̟̈͛̓͝d̷̳͇̝̜̺̪̈e̵̙̖̩̱͙̠̽ͅē̸̗̖p̶̪̱̂̑̀ ̸̻̲̭̞͖̠͔̒͝ẅ̴̧̛̯́̒̽̕̕ͅį̷̝̜̬͎̭͗t̵̟̤͊͐͒͂̕̚h̵̝̟̮̲͐̌i̸̠͚̍͠n̶̘̖̟̻̗̪̏ ̴̱̿t̵͍̼̭̀h̶͚̠͍̥̩̫̺̑̋̄̀̇͛ḙ̴̡͉̲̭̻̿͐̎̊̐̈́ ̶̳̲́̈́̓͠͝ḩ̴͉̋̌̊͜ę̷̖͍͕̆́̓̑̕ͅá̵͍r̵̡̖̥̐̀̅ṯ̴̑ ̸͔̆͗͗̇̓͒̚s̷̯͖̍̓̿̐̉̚o̵͍̿ ̵̧̧̣͇̗̔̈̚̚c̴̹͖̳̘̀̆́̎͆̀̕ȑ̶̢͖̀̍̋͗̄ǘ̶̢̥͔͇̣̫̒̈̋͋̔ͅd̶̲́̌͒̄̎͗̊ȅ̶͓̺̟͎̼͊̏͐ḷ̸̨̬̜͎̼́ͅŷ̴͕̜͙͇̋̊̎̊͛ ̴̞̙̪̙͖̜̀t̴̡̨̨̟̪̭͌o̸̮͉̠̒̈́͋̆̓̋r̷̡͌n̸̡̮͍͆̓͛.̸̨̨̪̻͛͋͒̄ ̸̧̣̣̬̳̈́̎C̸̹̫̥͐̏̓͐̋̚͝ȗ̵͚̤̯͍̖͙̒̎͗̽̕͝ŗ̶̻͍̳̖̜̓͝s̴̡̛̭̠͍̠͕̕ě̸̪̺͖̊͐͐ͅḑ̸̜͈͍̙̎̔͗ ̷̪͓̬͍̍̉͘͘b̷̢͓͙͙̲̮̔̅̈́̐̐ȩ̷͓͎̭͔̲̿͒̆̀̀͜͝ỉ̷̯͕͙̥̬̆̊̐͑n̸̹͈̻̿̍̚ͅg̷̭͓̘̀̓͊̽̄s̸̢͈̳̼̐́ ̷̯͔̥̦̞͕̌͘ẅ̴̡̢͓̳͚͈̤́̏h̸̢̩̺̤̞̺̜̀ờ̶̝́̆̒̓̚s̸̡͈͔̼̠̊ẹ̷̀̏͗̄̋̈ ̷̹͓̒͋̆s̷̡͕̘̺̱̲̰̈̈̃̆̌t̷̼̖̮͂ę̵̅̈́͝͝͝p̴̛͍̩̟̙͎͌̓̈̿͗̚͜s̵̳̩͐̍̔̒̀͝ ̵̼͇̥̈́ȩ̴̜͎͉͔̤̋̅c̴̢̛̱̟̠̝̭͊͂͗̋h̸͕̮͍̩͓͛̽̎͆̅̌o̶̡̳̤̮͗̍ ̸̧̼̺͆͐̇ţ̴͙̗̮͖̩̦͛̋̈ḩ̶͖͔̜̲͓̎͊͋̐̄͠͝ĕ̵̩̲̄̀̄͂͘ ̵̉̓̔̂͜c̶̛̙̼̠͊̈̕̕o̴̡̺̿m̷̛̤͛͒͠i̸̯̤̝͊͐̇̃͠n̷͍̥̘͔͙̠̦̓g̶̤͔͚̰̻̊͌͌͐́̕ ̷͇̟́̈̉͐͋͠ď̸̨͉̘̅̀͌̐̕e̷̢̫̱̱̍͝͝a̴̧̡͙̺͒̐t̷̪̦̟͖͖͊͜h̴̨̦̠͕̰̰̾̓͘̕̕,̶̭̿͋̽̏̍̌̀ ̵̪̞̫͆̈̉w̷̱̘͈̫̿ͅh̵̫͋o̷͓̰̪͖̭͔̖͆̀̉͆̈̋s̶̛̠̼͉̾͌̑͠ę̶̡̥̺̙̩̽̊ ̴̢͕̜̫͕̣̗̓̔́̓͂̃͝g̵͖̞͖̈́̐̕o̷̗̅̎̀͐̋̚ȁ̵̗̜̯̲͔̣̎̈́̽̾͝l̶̲͖̍̂͘ ̴̨̝̰̫͎̼̮̍͂͛s̵̪̭̞̗͉̔̂́̈̀ͅţ̴̭͈͓̬͕̻̿̃̎͊͌̕̕ë̸̢͈͚͇̈̒ě̵̖̣̞̫͕̲̪͌̈́͑̓̒͆p̵̠̲͑̅̀͜͜͠ȩ̴̛̙̜͊̂̚d̶̺̮̣̱͛̕ ̶͖͖̦̒̕͠i̵͇̗̘͖̟̓̾̔n̶̩̗͚̦͍͕͒̆̒́̌ ̷̧̱͇̱̤̋̉̔̽̕b̴̮̗͉̜͉̉͒͒̾̈e̶̳̼͚͍̞͜͝ẗ̶̡̪̠̻̪͚̍̀̀͐r̶̫̐̋a̷̛̼͍͕̬̎̽̊͒̋ͅÿ̵͙̺͍̭̝́̎̇͗â̸͍̮͚̥l̷̡̙̤̲̎̆̂̈́͌ ̸̨̞͔̪̯̠͑̂̑͒̈́̊ä̷͓̰̺̖͇͎͊̇͐͊͌͝ṋ̶̡̮̀͜d̵̦͍̓̌̾̾̀͗ ̷̠̘̳̮̭̊̆̊̐͛̌̂s̶̡̠͓̩͋̚͘u̴͙͉͖̤͒f̶͕̺͖̲̯̈̔́̓̚͝f̷͇̼͚͚͕̉̀̀͌́͘͠ę̸͂̆̒͑̓̽͘ŗ̸̪̙̬͕̟͉̈́̾̏ȉ̵̫̯̔ṉ̴̺̄̑̕g̸̞̹͈̍͒̏̌͒̄̚ ̴͓̫̖͕̞̓͛̑͜ḧ̷̲͖̺̀̂͆͂o̴̘͔̫͙̹͆ẇ̵̬̺̰͉͉͎̦̄̇ ̸̛̼̤̞͉͘d̸͈̫͊̇͐͋̓̏̕ǎ̶̞̞̜͕̒̓̍̉r̶̰̣̙̗̲͉͒͛̒͊͆̕e̸̡̗̼̩̩̊ͅ ̷͇̇̊ÿ̴̡̧̫̳̙̜̺́̋͛̓̀͠o̴̳̦͉̊͒͋͘u̸̳̗̎͋̽́͒͂̕ ̵̧̨̤̰̘̀v̷͚͔̯͔͊̓̾̾͊͘ḯ̴̤̬̖̪̙̣̑͐̕͜͠ẹ̵̞̮͗̇͗́w̴̤̣̞͊ ̸̢̒͂b̸̺̳̣̣̭̭̚͜l̷̛̹̽̓͝i̴̭̫͔̝̖͈̒͝s̴͖̣̳̝͕̎̍̿̀͝s̸̱̦̜͉͓̍͐̿f̷̥̄̆͆̐̆̓͋ų̵̭̠̰̙͉̹̂̀͗́̍̌l̷̫̣̱͛̄̚n̸̼͕̫͎̖̯̄̂ë̵͙́̉̀͋̈͛ś̴̟̺̘͜ş̵͔͕͖̈́͜.̶̩̝́́̂́̏ ̸̢̠̦͕̈̐̚F̴͈͉̱̲̹͈͕̆ä̸̛̮̯̺͈̬̭̻̒̀̍͆̔ļ̷͓͓͉̝̐̓l̷̡͇̟͇̗̹͓̽ ̶̪̻̝͔̬͎͖̏̓͛̋f̵̧̪̙̠͋̿̓̉͗̎͠ȏ̴̻̤̹͕͍͜r̶̮̦͌ē̵̡̂̒̔̏͝v̷͈̹̉e̷̦̹̥̟̭͕̿̄̒̍̚̚r̵͓͇͚̜̈͋̉̏̓̕͘͜ ̸̨̠̮̥͇̰̋̇̽͝ṫ̸̛̙ơ̷̢̢̜̻̗̱͑͂̌̃͜ ̷̜̒̑̅̈̅͝š̶̨̢̟̼̜̹̌̂͐l̴̥̪͌̎͜ë̴͙̜́̎ͅę̷̼͙͉̓p̸̞̖̦͝,̴̞̯͇͐͂͒̿̆͜͝ ̶̡͕̦̭͓͓͘ǫ̴̧̞̹̱̱̾̒̈́̉̀n̸̛͉̻̝̺̱̖̄̈l̶̖̞̣̰̙̩̋͌̔y̶̟͇͕͂͌͗̄̿̈́̏ ̴̛̜̘̝̪̏̇̑̈́͋͜ẗ̷̙́̅͗̓ö̶͕̫̠́̾́ ̴̛̺̈́a̸̫͕̪͊͒͆̿́̊͠w̸̯̦̘͂ă̵̰̼͕̬͉͆̉k̵͓̀̈́̓͐ě̴͇̝̣n̵̫͚͕̫̰̈́̑͆ ̷̨̧̪͎̞͈̃̓͆̾ͅh̸̡͓̹̦́͗́̾͘͘̕͜ͅo̵̹̐̐̅́͒́ḽ̶͑ĺ̴͎̬̐̃̈́o̷͎̤͓͉̖͐̃́̄̅̊̕͜w̴̢̲͈̬͍͓̲͐̈̅͗̒̿̌.̵̱̺̹̝̖̽̇͋̿̽̏̀ ̷̪͔̓̈̒̚͜S̷͚͍̰̋ú̵̫͚́̏̈́͛͠͠c̶̬̺̔h̶̥̺̻̱̽̆̽̋̅́ ̷̨̼̖̣̯̱̐̂i̵̹͖̟͖̮̇̆s̵̥̺͒̒̑̒̔͘ ̷̫̥̳̥̔̀̈́̓ț̵̆̚h̸̬̹̤̝̘̿ę̷̬̻̍ ̷̧̥͈̄̓̆̑̎c̸̛̹͇̪̩̣̪̒̇̿͗͜u̵̫̱̼̦̾̀̈̈́͐̂̂r̴̭̃͋̈̎̀̉͜s̵̨̨͈͚̀̈̊͠ę̴̗͚͎̖̞͌̆̂̇͌͝ ̷̦͎̰̭̯̲̿ͅǒ̴̪͇͙̈̊f̴̹̰̪͍̞̅͜ͅ ̶̜̗̘̫̲́͒̿͘͝t̸̜̩̗̪̟̫̆͆h̸͇̼̻͔̙̼̽̀e̸̩̙̲͕̯̐̏̈́ ̸̦̮̦͘õ̵̗̉̌͑̓̕͠n̷̡̐̈́̄e̵̹͚̦̟̓̀̍̔̈́̄ ̶̟͓͕̀̉͝ẁ̵͕̂͌͐i̷̢̯͔̖̙̅̂̎͜ṱ̴͆̈́͛̅h̷̢̨̭̫̺̰͓̑̍͊̑̔ ̸̢̥͇̓̔̊͗p̴͍̤̄̚͝ͅở̷͔̺̖̜̭͖͂̓͗͜w̷̖̭͕͈̃͆̈́͆ę̷̢̼̟͚̰̏r̸̢͖̫̻̼͋̿͌̾͆ ̷̩̬͓͆̒͛̾a̸̞͇͖̙̟̅͆̀̋̆̆͝ǹ̴̗͙̆̒̾͒͛̕d̴̦̫̥̈́͆ ̶̻̌̓́̈̕ẁ̷̧̪̮̟̽͜i̶̩͇̙̋̌̽͜ͅl̵̩̲̟̠̯͌̅ͅĺ̷̥́͗ ̴̱͑̏͋͊̚ṫ̵̥̺̈́͛̎́ō̷͈̙ ̸͇͈͑s̴̭̘͂̽̈́̿̑͝ḷ̶̤̣̀̕a̸̢̫̖̱͊̔y̴̪̦͕͆ ̸͔̹̪͊̽̕Ġ̴̗̝͓̹̪̼̄̌͆͗̂ö̵͓̳̳̏͋̏͝͠ḍ̴̹̀s̶͈̬̠̱̞̋.̵͚̖̎̀̐̿́̚͝H̶̢̲̙͖͎͔͚̿̀̿̽͝o̶̮͉̖̜͕̟̾w̴̱͓̠̬̄̚ ̵̤͎̜̄̅d̵̲͓̝̜͎̺̏̋̌͜a̴͙͖̺͎̅̈́̍̈r̴̮̻̙̱̠͌͆̈e̵̥̼͖͙̱̊ ̴̧̦̪͚̪̩̍̈́̉y̸̙̮̔̈́̆̆̿̂́ơ̶̘̮̜͇̟̼͜ǔ̶̧̺̖̙ ̴͚̤̀̄p̴̩͇͔̦̈́r̶̡͕͆̾̆̿̏́̓è̶̯͚͔͑͂͑t̸̡̻̭̃͝e̵̼̊̄̓ñ̶̡̢̦̬̰̎͜ḋ̷̳͕̙̫̻̉̋̈ ̴͙͎̥̳̹̤̰̑͗t̶̰̭̤̺͐͑̾͐͝͠͠ö̷̩̺̩̯̳́̆̈́͜ ̸̗̗̟̀c̶̢͕̮̥̗̰͆a̴̛̖͙͎͐̔͂͛̚r̶̝̱̬̲͍͇͒̿ë̶̻̲̲̆̈́̓̑ ̵̖̻̰͊̎́͒͌w̵̢̳̺̒͗̅̒i̸̢͕̯͑̐͆͗͜͜t̴̜͎̭̽̍͆̓͘͘͠ͅḧ̴̜̹̳̈́̈́̒̕ ̸͖̏̇̎̈͝t̵͖̖̞͑͂̍̕͜ḧ̶̡̖͍̦͚̰͈́͛̒̌e̴̙̩̪̥͇͈͕͊ ̷̰̏̽̓̓̓w̵͍̦̤͖̔̒̌̉͘͠e̵̻̗͙̘̖̍͜͝i̶̡̧̳̥͇͎͜͝g̷̻̜͖̜̏͂̀̂̈́h̵͚̤͒́̾̄̊̆t̴͇̼́̽̈́̚͝͠ ̷̺̳̤͙̝̉o̵͎̣̺͍͇̻̠͆̂f̵̣̤͙̩͍̲̻̒͝ ̶͕̱̜̓͌͋̿̉͠m̷̲̺̲̫̳̘̈̉͠ǫ̶̛͈̰̲̞̰͖̑́ù̸̠͙̬̿͘n̸̳̟̰̓͊̀̿͌̕t̴̛̠͔̻̩̹̊͐̄ḁ̵̢̣̖̽̌̓͑́͜͠i̸̜̞͌͛̒͂̎́͠n̶͎̺̾s̷͙̈́́̓͒ ̸̛̬͔͍̅͜ó̴͈̳͚̤̎̃̀̄ͅn̵̮̖̜͂ ̵̢̠̭̈́̍y̶̢̛̪̭̗͙̐̋o̸̧̎̐̓̐ư̵̧̺̳̣̪̬͌̃̐̆̚͝r̸͙͊̈́̄ ̸̨̧̘̜̠̂͜s̶̻̤̍͐͊͝ǫ̷͚͙̟͉͑̆̈́u̵̺̖̿͒̌l̸̰̠͎͕͔͐̅̑.̵̮̤̘̯̹̑̀̅̒ͅ ̶̢̲͑̈͘͘͠ͅŃ̸̢͍̭̆͜͠í̵͖̫̗͍̱͚̻̀͋̊͝ẗ̸̳̭̼̜̑͊ö̸̫̻̍ ̴̩̗͎͂͗̄̂̉̐h̶̙͒͝ả̶̼̟̙͈̺̬̗͐̐̂̅̍́ GIVE INl̷̛͕͐͛̌̇a̷̺͖̩̓͗i̷̼̞̱̦̜͈̋̂͐͊͂̏m̷̬͓̘͗̐́̚ẹ̴̡̱̥͉̻̦́̿̆̄̂͒̀d̶̘̝̙̟̺̝͋ ̷̨͇̪̆̔̆̃̈́̀å̴͖̟͍̟̬͈͑̂s̷̹͋̋̈́͋͒̒͘ ̷̯͊̔̓̑͆̏̈́m̶̗̰̰̀͗̒͊̏̏͠ã̷͚̋̒͆͒̋ṉ̷̨͍̺̩͎̱͊̔̏̄̊ỵ̵̜̹̰̠͖̽̀̇̂͗ ̸̺̙̮̌̂͐͜á̶̡̬͔̺̀̓ͅͅs̶̡̛͓͇̍̆͝͝ ̴͈͖̞͖̹̀̿͂̀̕̚̕ͅẏ̷̧̛̀̚͝ö̴͈́̀ư̶̞̳̋̎́͝͝ͅ,̷̫̰̳͆̏̌̅͛̔͝ ̴̡̰̩̳̞̲̃͌̃̈͝n̵̳͖̜͂̈́̽̑̇͜͠o̸͓̭͓̊͊r̸͙͍̰̲͓͑̕͝ ̴̨̳̻̣̝̤̏̎ẖ̸̆ḁ̷̛̫͂̿͒̀̉͠ş̶͇̻̹̟͑́͘̚ ̷̣̟̲̏̄̓̿̽̋̈G̶̲̙̟̓̚w̷̦̹̼͍͔̓̿̅̓͐͋̚y̸̳̬͇̮͑͂̀̊̀͊̄n̸͍̜͕̽̈̓͋̅͊̚͜.̷̞͇̖̥̬̹̯̏ ̶̨̛͈̔̽̅͑Y̷͚͐͆͂͌͆̾o̶̹̫̔̃̊̍͛̂u̵͇̬̒ ̴̥̮̠̪̳̍̒͘̚͝a̵̛̗͊̐͆l̶̲̙̺̼̍̓͌̿̎̔̈o̷̻̳̳̺͠ń̸̼̼̪̯̥̯̆̒̕ḛ̴̢͖͈͉͈̺͒̏͂̔̚ ̶̝́͂̈͠͝a̶̖̮̩̗͖̹͊͂̽r̴̜͈͍͈̈̓͆͘ͅê̶̼͕̜̥̺̬̏ ̷̼̬̪̻̜̀̈̌̅̆̈̕t̶̖̪̹̉̆h̷̻̰̠̽e̷̲̿̾͂̊̕͘̕ ̶͖̤̫̫̩̀͂̐͘ȩ̵͖̦̓̕n̷͔̙̖͋̆̏́̂̀͘͜ḑ̵̠̱̖̎͛͝ ̶̧͖̤̻̻͂͛̃̐͗ȯ̴͚́̅f̵͍̖̥̓̿͒̓͝ ̶̩͒̓͘͠ā̷̱̰͕̫͙̐̈̚͘͝ḷ̵̨͇̳̙͛̂̐ͅl̶̬̺̭͑̈́͋̐͝,̸̡̱̝̪̹̖̋̐͂̓̽͌̔ͅ ̶̮̮̼̍ų̷̘̙̹͔̆̈́̕n̶͉̓͝d̸̹̜̍̽̈́̍͑͠ȩ̶͖͙̣̺͙̎͒̉̚s̶̥̮̻̻̯̱̋̐̉̕͝ȩ̸͉̲̀͊͠r̶͔̩̀ͅv̵̳͖̩̖̇̓̑͌̈́̊ī̷̱̳̜̜̕ṇ̷̡̛̅̈́͂̎͝g̸̳͕̦̬̒̚ ̵̢̯͇͊͑͒́o̶̙̤̔͊f̸͙̗̫̓̔̋̕ ̸̡̤̪̥̖͉̘̀̽̍̓p̷͙͙͙̾̌ͅŗ̸̯̰̱͂̈́̎à̷̺̦̻̺̼̣̘͊ĩ̶̻̱̃͐s̶̩̀͗͋͝e̶̛͔̱͗͌ ̸͙̘̹͌͝ö̴̻͕͍̯̼̰́̋̾̑̌̄ṙ̸͎̻͈̹͚̙ ̶̬̳̏̽̕c̵̛̊̓͜r̶̲͗̔͆̏̎̕͠ó̸̡̯̹̙͔̥̯w̴̘͖̻̥̖̒͒͒̋̈́͝n̴̝̖͈̹͛̕ ̶̗̣͔̤͇̩͋͐̎͐͂ỵ̷͗̈́̿̾͗ó̵̜̺̟̯̟͎̺̋ǔ̴̧̼͉̩̫̠̒ ̸̹̦̲͓̤͂͘͝m̸̟̗̰̓̄͆̚͝į̶͇͈̽͐̕n̸̰̭̝͍̋̒̑d̵͇͉̲͖̊͆̾͜l̸͔͇̜͗é̸̡̨̦̺̊s̷̩̬̤͕̯̪̉̄͛͘š̶̤̰̩̝̩̺͜l̸͎͙͗̑̀̃͜y̷͇̾̆̎͆̄̉͝ ̵̹̬͋̉̿̓̍̌p̸̛̫͇̓͋̅́́͠ù̶͇̣̤̪̓̏̚͜r̵͈͗̑̌̀͆̚͝ṣ̴̛͉͍͋̃̂̕u̷͔͍̦̍͛́̀̀̈͝ͅe̸̗̥̽͜d̵̛͍̮̭͇͇͑̐̀̾͗̚.̶͕̟̿̚ ̸̝̃͑͝F̷̛̳̥͕͉̰̲̪̅ă̵̠̫̬̼͋r̷̠̈̈́̃̉͠͠ ̶͇̙̬̦̜̥̫̽̋̒̎t̸͈̫̻́͋͆̿̿̉͝ó̶̭͚͛̒̉ȍ̵̢̹͔̼̰͙̫̑̌̃̚ ̸̰͌̿̈̈͐g̶͈̽̇̿̈́͝ư̵̥̱̐̂͘͜t̵̼͉̜͇͑̕l̸̖̘͓̖̦̙͑̇̚͠e̵̛̩͕͐s̴͕͙̼̪̦͚̳̾̓͒̅͊̀š̷̪͕͕̾̇̇͊͘ ̸̨̩̝̳̔̇ͅẗ̸̟̉̈́̀͋͌̚o̵̢̝͎͇̓́̈͜͠ͅ ̸̢̫͓̂̆̑͑͘̚͝c̸͎̟̱͇̅̈́̿̆̃͒l̶̩̼̟͊̅͋̔ͅá̸̢̢̛͍͈̰́ĩ̷̧̜͎̳̼̚͠m̷̨̖̰͆̆ ̵̨̩͔͖̞̘̩̅͘ê̵̗̗̟̻̥͙̅͋̍̅̀ḭ̴̼̖͍͓́͝t̴͖̤͔̫̪͉̣͋͐̑̌͌́h̸̬̰̺̭̰̿͑͊͝ę̵̱͔̟͇̻͍͂̄̑̕̚r̴͓̟̳̄̒͝,̵̨̯̹̼̮̤̌̊̓̃ ̶͉͖̤̉͐̒̃w̷͔̝̙͖̠̑̃̏o̷̩͎̍̅͋̿̚͝r̴͕̼̦̦̈́̽̎̋r̴͖̝͊͒̒͋͌ī̶̱̱̥͕̦̅̐͗̄è̴̹͓̟͝͝͠d̷̖̙̫̹̤̀ ̶̞̔̀̄͆ͅo̵̪͉̟̓̍f̶̤̭͒͌͜ ̷̧͚̻͖̚y̵̩͇̺̘͆̿ơ̴̧͈̥̬̽͒̈́̚ͅu̴̬͝r̸̡̡͉̻͙͉̂ ̵͈̆͘͝p̸̧̮̲̞͍̖͔͗̇ỉ̶̺̲͙̩̮̘̌̀́̄͋t̸̡̛̲͖͔̲͋̿͂̂̎͠ ̵̦̞̟̈͛̓͝d̷̳͇̝̜̺̪̈e̵̙̖̩̱͙̠̽ͅē̸̗̖p̶̪̱̂̑̀ ̸̻̲̭̞͖̠͔̒͝ẅ̴̧̛̯́̒̽̕̕ͅį̷̝̜̬͎̭͗t̵̟̤͊͐͒͂̕̚h̵̝̟̮̲͐̌i̸̠͚̍͠n̶̘̖̟̻̗̪̏ ̴̱̿t̵͍̼̭̀h̶͚̠͍̥̩̫̺̑̋̄̀̇͛ḙ̴̡͉̲̭̻̿͐̎̊̐̈́ ̶̳̲́̈́̓͠͝ḩ̴͉̋̌̊͜ę̷̖͍͕̆́̓̑̕ͅá̵͍r̵̡̖̥̐̀̅ṯ̴̑ ̸͔̆͗͗̇̓͒̚s̷̯͖̍̓̿̐̉̚o̵͍̿ ̵̧̧̣͇̗̔̈̚̚c̴̹͖̳̘̀̆́̎͆̀̕ȑ̶̢͖̀̍̋͗̄ǘ̶̢̥͔͇̣̫̒̈̋͋̔ͅd̶̲́̌͒̄̎͗̊ȅ̶͓̺̟͎̼͊̏͐ḷ̸̨̬̜͎̼́ͅŷ̴͕̜͙͇̋̊̎̊͛ ̴̞̙̪̙͖̜̀t̴̡̨̨̟̪̭͌o̸̮͉̠̒̈́͋̆̓̋r̷̡͌n̸̡̮͍͆̓͛.̸̨̨̪̻͛͋͒̄ ̸̧̣̣̬̳̈́̎C̸̹̫̥͐̏̓͐̋̚͝ȗ̵͚̤̯͍̖͙̒̎͗̽̕͝ŗ̶̻͍̳̖̜̓͝s̴̡̛̭̠͍̠͕̕ě̸̪̺͖̊͐͐ͅḑ̸̜͈͍̙̎̔͗ ̷̪͓̬͍̍̉͘͘b̷̢͓͙͙̲̮̔̅̈́̐̐ȩ̷͓͎̭͔̲̿͒̆̀̀͜͝ỉ̷̯͕͙̥̬̆̊̐͑n̸̹͈̻̿̍̚ͅg̷̭͓̘̀̓͊̽̄s̸̢͈̳̼̐́ ̷̯͔̥̦̞͕̌͘ẅ̴̡̢͓̳͚͈̤́̏h̸̢̩̺̤̞̺̜̀ờ̶̝́̆̒̓̚s̸̡͈͔̼̠̊ẹ̷̀̏͗̄̋̈ ̷̹͓̒͋̆s̷̡͕̘̺̱̲̰̈̈̃̆̌t̷̼̖̮͂ę̵̅̈́͝͝͝p̴̛͍̩̟̙͎͌̓̈̿͗̚͜s̵̳̩͐̍̔̒̀͝ ̵̼͇̥̈́ȩ̴̜͎͉͔̤̋̅c̴̢̛̱̟̠̝̭͊͂͗̋h̸͕̮͍̩͓͛̽̎͆̅̌o̶̡̳̤̮͗̍ ̸̧̼̺͆͐̇ţ̴͙̗̮͖̩̦͛̋̈ḩ̶͖͔̜̲͓̎͊͋̐̄͠͝ĕ̵̩̲̄̀̄͂͘ ̵̉̓̔̂͜c̶̛̙̼̠͊̈̕̕o̴̡̺̿m̷̛̤͛͒͠i̸̯̤̝͊͐̇̃͠n̷͍̥̘͔͙̠̦̓g̶̤͔͚̰̻̊͌͌͐́̕ ̷͇̟́̈̉͐͋͠ď̸̨͉̘̅̀͌̐̕e̷̢̫̱̱̍͝͝a̴̧̡͙̺͒̐t̷̪̦̟͖͖͊͜h̴̨̦̠͕̰̰̾̓͘̕̕,̶̭̿͋̽̏̍̌̀ ̵̪̞̫͆̈̉w̷̱̘͈̫̿ͅh̵̫͋o̷͓̰̪͖̭͔̖͆̀̉͆̈̋s̶̛̠̼͉̾͌̑͠ę̶̡̥̺̙̩̽̊ ̴̢͕̜̫͕̣̗̓̔́̓͂̃͝g̵͖̞͖̈́̐̕o̷̗̅̎̀͐̋̚ȁ̵̗̜̯̲͔̣̎̈́̽̾͝l̶̲͖̍̂͘ ̴̨̝̰̫͎̼̮̍͂͛s̵̪̭̞̗͉̔̂́̈̀ͅţ̴̭͈͓̬͕̻̿̃̎͊͌̕̕ë̸̢͈͚͇̈̒ě̵̖̣̞̫͕̲̪͌̈́͑̓̒͆p̵̠̲͑̅̀͜͜͠ȩ̴̛̙̜͊̂̚d̶̺̮̣̱͛̕ ̶͖͖̦̒̕͠i̵͇̗̘͖̟̓̾̔n̶̩̗͚̦͍͕͒̆̒́̌ ̷̧̱͇̱̤̋̉̔̽̕b̴̮̗͉̜͉̉͒͒̾̈e̶̳̼͚͍̞͜͝ẗ̶̡̪̠̻̪͚̍̀̀͐r̶̫̐̋a̷̛̼͍͕̬̎̽̊͒̋ͅÿ̵͙̺͍̭̝́̎̇͗â̸͍̮͚̥l̷̡̙̤̲̎̆̂̈́͌ ̸̨̞͔̪̯̠͑̂̑͒̈́̊ä̷͓̰̺̖͇͎͊̇͐͊͌͝ṋ̶̡̮̀͜d̵̦͍̓̌̾̾̀͗ ̷̠̘̳̮̭̊̆̊̐͛̌̂s̶̡̠͓̩͋̚͘u̴͙͉͖̤͒f̶͕̺͖̲̯̈̔́̓̚͝f̷͇̼͚͚͕̉̀̀͌́͘͠ę̸͂̆̒͑̓̽͘ŗ̸̪̙̬͕̟͉̈́̾̏ȉ̵̫̯̔ṉ̴̺̄̑̕g̸̞̹͈̍͒̏̌͒̄̚ ̴͓̫̖͕̞̓͛̑͜ḧ̷̲͖̺̀̂͆͂o̴̘͔̫͙̹͆ẇ̵̬̺̰͉͉͎̦̄̇ ̸̛̼̤̞͉͘d̸͈̫͊̇͐͋̓̏̕ǎ̶̞̞̜͕̒̓̍̉r̶̰̣̙̗̲͉͒͛̒͊͆̕e̸̡̗̼̩̩̊ͅ ̷͇̇̊ÿ̴̡̧̫̳̙̜̺́̋͛̓̀͠o̴̳̦͉̊͒͋͘u̸̳̗̎͋̽́͒͂̕ ̵̧̨̤̰̘̀v̷͚͔̯͔͊̓̾̾͊͘ḯ̴̤̬̖̪̙̣̑͐̕͜͠ẹ̵̞̮͗̇͗́w̴̤̣̞͊ ̸̢̒͂b̸̺̳̣̣̭̭̚͜l̷̛̹̽̓͝i̴̭̫͔̝̖͈̒͝s̴͖̣̳̝͕̎̍̿̀͝s̸̱̦̜͉͓̍͐̿f̷̥̄̆͆̐̆̓͋ų̵̭̠̰̙͉̹̂̀͗́̍̌l̷̫̣̱͛̄̚n̸̼͕̫͎̖̯̄̂ë̵͙́̉̀͋̈͛ś̴̟̺̘͜ş̵͔͕͖̈́͜.̶̩̝́́̂́̏ ̸̢̠̦͕̈̐̚F̴͈͉̱̲̹͈͕̆ä̸̛̮̯̺͈̬̭̻̒̀̍͆̔ļ̷͓͓͉̝̐̓l̷̡͇̟͇̗̹͓̽ ̶̪̻̝͔̬͎͖̏̓͛̋f̵̧̪̙̠͋̿̓̉͗̎͠ȏ̴̻̤̹͕͍͜r̶̮̦͌ē̵̡̂̒̔̏͝v̷͈̹̉e̷̦̹̥̟̭͕̿̄̒̍̚̚r̵͓͇͚̜̈͋̉̏̓̕͘͜ ̸̨̠̮̥͇̰̋̇̽͝ṫ̸̛̙ơ̷̢̢̜̻̗̱͑͂̌̃͜ ̷̜̒̑̅̈̅͝š̶̨̢̟̼̜̹̌̂͐l̴̥̪͌̎͜ë̴͙̜́̎ͅę̷̼͙͉̓p̸̞̖̦͝,̴̞̯͇͐͂͒̿̆͜͝ ̶̡͕̦̭͓͓͘ǫ̴̧̞̹̱̱̾̒̈́̉̀n̸̛͉̻̝̺̱̖̄̈l̶̖̞̣̰̙̩̋͌̔y̶̟͇͕͂͌͗̄̿̈́̏ ̴̛̜̘̝̪̏̇̑̈́͋͜ẗ̷̙́̅͗̓ö̶͕̫̠́̾́ ̴̛̺̈́a̸̫͕̪͊͒͆̿́̊͠w̸̯̦̘͂ă̵̰̼͕̬͉͆̉k̵͓̀̈́̓͐ě̴͇̝̣n̵̫͚͕̫̰̈́̑͆ ̷̨̧̪͎̞͈̃̓͆̾ͅh̸̡͓̹̦́͗́̾͘͘̕͜ͅo̵̹̐̐̅́͒́ḽ̶͑ĺ̴͎̬̐̃̈́o̷͎̤͓͉̖͐̃́̄̅̊̕͜w̴̢̲͈̬͍͓̲͐̈̅͗̒̿̌.̵̱̺̹̝̖̽̇͋̿̽̏̀ ̷̪͔̓̈̒̚͜S̷͚͍̰̋ú̵̫͚́̏̈́͛͠͠c̶̬̺̔h̶̥̺̻̱̽̆̽̋̅́ ̷̨̼̖̣̯̱̐̂i̵̹͖̟͖̮̇̆s̵̥̺͒̒̑̒̔͘ ̷̫̥̳̥̔̀̈́̓ț̵̆̚h̸̬̹̤̝̘̿ę̷̬̻̍ ̷̧̥͈̄̓̆̑̎c̸̛̹͇̪̩̣̪̒̇̿͗͜u̵̫̱̼̦̾̀̈̈́͐̂̂r̴̭̃͋̈̎̀̉͜s̵̨̨͈͚̀̈̊͠ę̴̗͚͎̖̞͌̆̂̇͌͝ ̷̦͎̰̭̯̲̿ͅǒ̴̪͇͙̈̊f̴̹̰̪͍̞̅͜ͅ ̶̜̗̘̫̲́͒̿͘͝t̸̜̩̗̪̟̫̆͆h̸͇̼̻͔̙̼̽̀e̸̩̙̲͕̯̐̏̈́ ̸̦̮̦͘õ̵̗̉̌͑̓̕͠n̷̡̐̈́̄e̵̹͚̦̟̓̀̍̔̈́̄ ̶̟͓͕̀̉͝ẁ̵͕̂͌͐i̷̢̯͔̖̙̅̂̎͜ṱ̴͆̈́͛̅h̷̢̨̭̫̺̰͓̑̍͊̑̔ ̸̢̥͇̓̔̊͗p̴͍̤̄̚͝ͅở̷͔̺̖̜̭͖͂̓͗͜w̷̖̭͕͈̃͆̈́͆ę̷̢̼̟͚̰̏r̸̢͖̫̻̼͋̿͌̾͆ ̷̩̬͓͆̒͛̾a̸̞͇͖̙̟̅͆̀̋̆̆͝ǹ̴̗͙̆̒̾͒͛̕d̴̦̫̥̈́͆ ̶̻̌̓́̈̕ẁ̷̧̪̮̟̽͜i̶̩͇̙̋̌̽͜ͅl̵̩̲̟̠̯͌̅ͅĺ̷̥́͗ ̴̱͑̏͋͊̚ṫ̵̥̺̈́͛̎́ō̷͈̙ ̸͇͈͑s̴̭̘͂̽̈́̿̑͝ḷ̶̤̣̀̕a̸̢̫̖̱͊̔y̴̪̦͕͆ ̸͔̹̪͊̽̕Ġ̴̗̝͓̹̪̼̄̌͆͗̂ö̵͓̳̳̏͋̏͝͠ḍ̴̹̀s̶͈̬̠̱̞̋.̵͚̖̎̀̐̿́̚͝H̶̢̲̙͖͎͔͚̿̀̿̽͝o̶̮͉̖̜͕̟̾w̴̱͓̠̬̄̚ ̵̤͎̜̄̅d̵̲͓̝̜͎̺̏̋̌͜a̴͙͖̺͎̅̈́̍̈r̴̮̻̙̱̠͌͆̈e̵̥̼͖͙̱̊ ̴̧̦̪͚̪̩̍̈́̉y̸̙̮̔̈́̆̆̿̂́ơ̶̘̮̜͇̟̼͜ǔ̶̧̺̖̙ ̴͚̤̀̄p̴̩͇͔̦̈́r̶̡͕͆̾̆̿̏́̓è̶̯͚͔͑͂͑t̸̡̻̭̃͝e̵̼̊̄̓ñ̶̡̢̦̬̰̎͜ḋ̷̳͕̙̫̻̉̋̈ ̴͙͎̥̳̹̤̰̑͗t̶̰̭̤̺͐͑̾͐͝͠͠ö̷̩̺̩̯̳́̆̈́͜ ̸̗̗̟̀c̶̢͕̮̥̗̰͆a̴̛̖͙͎͐̔͂͛̚r̶̝̱̬̲͍͇͒̿ë̶̻̲̲̆̈́̓̑ ̵̖̻̰͊̎́͒͌w̵̢̳̺̒͗̅̒i̸̢͕̯͑̐͆͗͜͜t̴̜͎̭̽̍͆̓͘͘͠ͅḧ̴̜̹̳̈́̈́̒̕ ̸͖̏̇̎̈͝t̵͖̖̞͑͂̍̕͜ḧ̶̡̖͍̦͚̰͈́͛̒̌e̴̙̩̪̥͇͈͕͊ ̷̰̏̽̓̓̓w̵͍̦̤͖̔̒̌̉͘͠e̵̻̗͙̘̖̍͜͝i̶̡̧̳̥͇͎͜͝g̷̻̜͖̜̏͂̀̂̈́h̵͚̤͒́̾̄̊̆t̴͇̼́̽̈́̚͝͠ ̷̺̳̤͙̝̉o̵͎̣̺͍͇̻̠͆̂f̵̣̤͙̩͍̲̻̒͝ ̶͕̱̜̓͌͋̿̉͠m̷̲̺̲̫̳̘̈̉͠ǫ̶̛͈̰̲̞̰͖̑́ù̸̠͙̬̿͘n̸̳̟̰̓͊̀̿͌̕t̴̛̠͔̻̩̹̊͐̄ḁ̵̢̣̖̽̌̓͑́͜͠i̸̜̞͌͛̒͂̎́͠n̶͎̺̾s̷͙̈́́̓͒ ̸̛̬͔͍̅͜ó̴͈̳͚̤̎̃̀̄ͅn̵̮̖̜͂ ̵̢̠̭̈́̍y̶̢̛̪̭̗͙̐̋o̸̧̎̐̓̐ư̵̧̺̳̣̪̬͌̃̐̆̚͝r̸͙͊̈́̄ ̸̨̧̘̜̠̂͜s̶̻̤̍͐͊͝ǫ̷͚͙̟͉͑̆̈́u̵̺̖̿͒̌l̸̰̠͎͕͔͐̅̑.̵̮̤̘̯̹̑̀̅̒ͅ ̶̢̲͑̈͘͘͠ͅŃ̸̢͍̭̆͜͠í̵͖̫̗͍̱͚̻̀͋̊͝ẗ̸̳̭̼̜̑͊ö̸̫̻̍ ̴̩̗͎͂͗̄̂̉̐h̶̙͒͝ả̶̼̟̙͈̺̬̗͐̐̂̅̍́d̶̢̛͔̖̽̚ ̶̲̮̠͛̄̔̚n̸͓̙̪̭͛̋̉͆͝ö̴͖̫̜̦̪̤́̿̈̽͘͜͝ť̶̠̿̈́ ̷̛̠̩̂̓̈́̑̔c̴̹̙̹̻͉̤̈́͆l̷̛͕͐͛̌̇a̷̺͖̩̓͗i̷̼̞̱̦̜͈̋̂͐͊͂̏m̷̬͓̘͗̐́̚ẹ̴̡̱̥͉̻̦́̿̆̄̂͒̀d̶̘̝̙̟̺̝͋ ̷̨͇̪̆̔̆̃̈́̀å̴͖̟͍̟̬͈͑̂s̷̹͋̋̈́͋͒̒͘ ̷̯͊̔̓̑͆̏̈́m̶̗̰̰̀͗̒͊̏̏͠ã̷͚̋̒͆͒̋ṉ̷̨͍̺̩͎̱͊̔̏̄̊ỵ̵̜̹̰̠͖̽̀̇̂͗ ̸̺̙̮̌̂͐͜á̶̡̬͔̺̀̓ͅͅs̶̡̛͓͇̍̆͝͝ ̴͈͖̞͖̹̀̿͂̀̕̚̕ͅẏ̷̧̛̀̚͝ö̴͈́̀ư̶̞̳̋̎́͝͝ͅ,̷̫̰̳͆̏̌̅͛̔͝ ̴̡̰̩̳̞̲̃͌̃̈͝n̵̳͖̜͂̈́̽̑̇͜͠o̸͓̭͓̊͊r̸͙͍̰̲͓͑̕͝ ̴̨̳̻̣̝̤̏̎ẖ̸̆ḁ̷̛̫͂̿͒̀̉͠ş̶͇̻̹̟͑́͘̚ ̷̣̟̲̏̄̓̿̽̋̈G̶̲̙̟̓̚w̷̦̹̼͍͔̓̿̅̓͐͋̚y̸̳̬͇̮͑͂̀̊̀͊̄n̸͍̜͕̽̈̓͋̅͊̚͜.̷̞͇̖̥̬̹̯̏ ̶̨̛͈̔̽̅͑Y̷͚͐͆͂͌͆̾o̶̹̫̔̃̊̍͛̂u̵͇̬̒ ̴̥̮̠̪̳̍̒͘̚͝a̵̛̗͊̐͆l̶̲̙̺̼̍̓͌̿̎̔̈o̷̻̳̳̺͠ń̸̼̼̪̯̥̯̆̒̕ḛ̴̢͖͈͉͈̺͒̏͂̔̚ ̶̝́͂̈͠͝a̶̖̮̩̗͖̹͊͂̽r̴̜͈͍͈̈̓͆͘ͅê̶̼͕̜̥̺̬̏ ̷̼̬̪̻̜̀̈̌̅̆̈̕t̶̖̪̹̉̆h̷̻̰̠̽e̷̲̿̾͂̊̕͘̕ ̶͖̤̫̫̩̀͂̐͘ȩ̵͖̦̓̕n̷͔̙̖͋̆̏́̂̀͘͜ḑ̵̠̱̖̎͛͝ ̶̧͖̤̻̻͂͛̃̐͗ȯ̴͚́̅f̵͍̖̥̓̿͒̓͝ ̶̩͒̓͘͠ā̷̱̰͕̫͙̐̈̚͘͝ḷ̵̨͇̳̙͛̂̐ͅl̶̬̺̭͑̈́͋̐͝,̸̡̱̝̪̹̖̋̐͂̓̽͌̔ͅ ̶̮̮̼̍ų̷̘̙̹͔̆̈́̕n̶͉̓͝d̸̹̜̍̽̈́̍͑͠ȩ̶͖͙̣̺͙̎͒̉̚s̶̥̮̻̻̯̱̋̐̉̕͝ȩ̸͉̲̀͊͠r̶͔̩̀ͅv̵̳͖̩̖̇̓̑͌̈́̊ī̷̱̳̜̜̕ṇ̷̡̛̅̈́͂̎͝g̸̳͕̦̬̒̚ ̵̢̯͇͊͑͒́o̶̙̤̔͊f̸͙̗̫̓̔̋̕ ̸̡̤̪̥̖͉̘̀̽̍̓p̷͙͙͙̾̌ͅŗ̸̯̰̱͂̈́̎à̷̺̦̻̺̼̣̘͊ĩ̶̻̱̃͐s̶̩̀͗͋͝e̶̛͔̱͗͌ ̸͙̘̹͌͝ö̴̻͕͍̯̼̰́̋̾̑̌̄ṙ̸͎̻͈̹͚̙ ̶̬̳̏̽̕c̵̛̊̓͜r̶̲͗̔͆̏̎̕͠ó̸̡̯̹̙͔̥̯w̴̘͖̻̥̖̒͒͒̋̈́͝n̴̝̖͈̹͛̕ ̶̗̣͔̤͇̩͋͐̎͐͂ỵ̷͗̈́̿̾͗ó̵̜̺̟̯̟͎̺̋ǔ̴̧̼͉̩̫̠̒ ̸̹̦̲͓̤͂͘͝m̸̟̗̰̓̄͆̚͝į̶͇͈̽͐̕n̸̰̭̝͍̋̒̑d̵͇͉̲͖̊͆̾͜l̸͔͇̜͗é̸̡̨̦̺̊s̷̩̬̤͕̯̪̉̄͛͘š̶̤̰̩̝̩̺͜l̸͎͙͗̑̀̃͜y̷͇̾̆̎͆̄̉͝ ̵̹̬͋̉̿̓̍̌p̸̛̫͇̓͋̅́́͠ù̶͇̣̤̪̓̏̚͜r̵͈͗̑̌̀͆̚͝ṣ̴̛͉͍͋̃̂̕u̷͔͍̦̍͛́̀̀̈͝ͅe̸̗̥̽͜d̵̛͍̮̭͇͇͑̐̀̾͗̚.̶͕̟̿̚ ̸̝̃͑͝F̷̛̳̥͕͉̰̲̪̅ă̵̠̫̬̼͋r̷̠̈̈́̃̉͠͠ ̶͇̙̬̦̜̥̫̽̋̒̎t̸͈̫̻́͋͆̿̿̉͝ó̶̭͚͛̒̉ȍ̵̢̹͔̼̰͙̫̑̌̃̚ ̸̰͌̿̈̈͐g̶͈̽̇̿̈́͝ư̵̥̱̐̂͘͜t̵̼͉̜͇͑̕l̸̖̘͓̖̦̙͑̇̚͠e̵̛̩͕͐s̴͕͙̼̪̦͚̳̾̓͒̅͊̀š̷̪͕͕̾̇̇͊͘ ̸̨̩̝̳̔̇ͅẗ̸̟̉̈́̀͋͌̚o̵̢̝͎͇̓́̈͜͠ͅ ̸̢̫͓̂̆̑͑͘̚͝c̸͎̟̱͇̅̈́̿̆̃͒l̶̩̼̟͊̅͋̔ͅá̸̢̢̛͍͈̰́ĩ̷̧̜͎̳̼̚͠m̷̨̖̰͆̆ ̵̨̩͔͖̞̘̩̅͘ê̵̗̗̟̻̥͙̅͋̍̅̀ḭ̴̼̖͍͓́͝t̴͖̤͔̫̪͉̣͋͐̑̌͌́h̸̬̰̺̭̰̿͑͊͝ę̵̱͔̟͇̻͍͂̄̑̕̚r̴͓̟̳̄̒͝,̵̨̯̹̼̮̤̌̊̓̃ ̶͉͖̤̉͐̒̃w̷͔̝̙͖̠̑̃̏o̷̩͎̍̅͋̿̚͝r̴͕̼̦̦̈́̽̎̋r̴͖̝͊͒̒͋͌ī̶̱̱̥͕̦̅̐͗̄è̴̹͓̟͝͝͠d̷̖̙̫̹̤̀ ̶̞̔̀̄͆ͅo̵̪͉̟̓̍f̶̤̭͒͌͜ ̷̧͚̻͖̚y̵̩͇̺̘͆̿ơ̴̧͈̥̬̽͒̈́̚ͅu̴̬͝r̸̡̡͉̻͙͉̂ ̵͈̆͘͝p̸̧̮̲̞͍̖͔͗̇ỉ̶̺̲͙̩̮̘̌̀́̄͋t̸̡̛̲͖͔̲͋̿͂̂̎͠ ̵̦̞̟̈͛̓͝d̷̳͇̝̜̺̪̈e̵̙̖̩̱͙̠̽ͅē̸̗̖p̶̪̱̂̑̀ ̸̻̲̭̞͖̠͔̒͝ẅ̴̧̛̯́̒̽̕̕ͅį̷̝̜̬͎̭͗t̵̟̤͊͐͒͂̕̚h̵̝̟̮̲͐̌i̸̠͚̍͠n̶̘̖̟̻̗̪̏ ̴̱̿t̵͍̼̭̀h̶͚̠͍̥̩̫̺̑̋̄̀̇͛ḙ̴̡͉̲̭̻̿͐̎̊̐̈́ ̶̳̲́̈́̓͠͝ḩ̴͉̋̌̊͜ę̷̖͍͕̆́̓̑̕ͅá̵͍r̵̡̖̥̐̀̅ṯ̴̑ ̸͔̆͗͗̇̓͒̚s̷̯͖̍̓̿̐̉̚o̵͍̿ ̵̧̧̣͇̗̔̈̚̚c̴̹͖̳̘̀̆́̎͆̀̕ȑ̶̢͖̀̍̋͗̄ǘ̶̢̥͔͇̣̫̒̈̋͋̔ͅd̶̲́̌͒̄̎͗̊ȅ̶͓̺̟͎̼͊̏͐ḷ̸̨̬̜͎̼́ͅŷ̴͕̜͙͇̋̊̎̊͛ ̴̞̙̪̙͖̜̀t̴̡̨̨̟̪̭͌o̸̮͉̠̒̈́͋̆̓̋r̷̡͌n̸̡̮͍͆̓͛.̸̨̨̪̻͛͋͒̄ ̸̧̣̣̬̳̈́̎C̸̹̫̥͐̏̓͐̋̚͝ȗ̵͚̤̯͍̖͙̒̎͗̽̕͝ŗ̶̻͍̳̖̜̓͝s̴̡̛̭̠͍̠͕̕ě̸̪̺͖̊͐͐ͅḑ̸̜͈͍̙̎̔͗ ̷̪͓̬͍̍̉͘͘b̷̢͓͙͙̲̮̔̅̈́̐̐ȩ̷͓͎̭͔̲̿͒̆̀̀͜͝ỉ̷̯͕͙̥̬̆̊̐͑n̸̹͈̻̿̍̚ͅg̷̭͓̘̀̓͊̽̄s̸̢͈̳̼̐́ ̷̯͔̥̦̞͕̌͘ẅ̴̡̢͓̳͚͈̤́̏h̸̢̩̺̤̞̺̜̀ờ̶̝́̆̒̓̚s̸̡͈͔̼̠̊ẹ̷̀̏͗̄̋̈ ̷̹͓̒͋̆s̷̡͕̘̺̱̲̰̈̈̃̆̌t̷̼̖̮͂ę̵̅̈́͝͝͝p̴̛͍̩̟̙͎͌̓̈̿͗̚͜s̵̳̩͐̍̔̒̀͝ ̵̼͇̥̈́ȩ̴̜͎͉͔̤̋̅c̴̢̛̱̟̠̝̭͊͂͗̋h̸͕̮͍̩͓͛̽̎͆̅̌o̶̡̳̤̮͗̍ ̸̧̼̺͆͐̇ţ̴͙̗̮͖̩̦͛̋̈ḩ̶͖͔̜̲͓̎͊͋̐̄͠͝ĕ̵̩̲̄̀̄͂͘ ̵̉̓̔̂͜c̶̛̙̼̠͊̈̕̕o̴̡̺̿m̷̛̤͛͒͠i̸̯̤̝͊͐̇̃͠n̷͍̥̘͔͙̠̦̓g̶̤͔͚̰̻̊͌͌͐́̕ ̷͇̟́̈̉͐͋͠ď̸̨͉̘̅̀͌̐̕e̷̢̫̱̱̍͝͝a̴̧̡͙̺͒̐t̷̪̦̟͖͖͊͜h̴̨̦̠͕̰̰̾̓͘̕̕,̶̭̿͋̽̏̍̌̀ ̵̪̞̫͆̈̉w̷̱̘͈̫̿ͅh̵̫͋o̷͓̰̪͖̭͔̖͆̀̉͆̈̋s̶̛̠̼͉̾͌̑͠ę̶̡̥̺̙̩̽̊ ̴̢͕̜̫͕̣̗̓̔́̓͂̃͝g̵͖̞͖̈́̐̕o̷̗̅̎̀͐̋̚ȁ̵̗̜̯̲͔̣̎̈́̽̾͝l̶̲͖̍̂͘ ̴̨̝̰̫͎̼̮̍͂͛s̵̪̭̞̗͉̔̂́̈̀ͅţ̴̭͈͓̬͕̻̿̃̎͊͌̕̕ë̸̢͈͚͇̈̒ě̵̖̣̞̫͕̲̪͌̈́͑̓̒͆p̵̠̲͑̅̀͜͜͠ȩ̴̛̙̜͊̂̚d̶̺̮̣̱͛̕ ̶͖͖̦̒̕͠i̵͇̗̘͖̟̓̾̔n̶̩̗͚̦͍͕͒̆̒́̌ ̷̧̱͇̱̤̋̉̔̽̕b̴̮̗͉̜͉̉͒͒̾̈e̶̳̼͚͍̞͜͝ẗ̶̡̪̠̻̪͚̍̀̀͐r̶̫̐̋a̷̛̼͍͕̬̎̽̊͒̋ͅÿ̵͙̺͍̭̝́̎̇͗â̸͍̮͚̥l̷̡̙̤̲̎̆̂̈́͌ ̸̨̞͔̪̯̠͑̂̑͒̈́̊ä̷͓̰̺̖͇͎͊̇͐͊͌͝ṋ̶̡̮̀͜d̵̦͍̓̌̾̾̀͗ ̷̠̘̳̮̭̊̆̊̐͛̌̂s̶̡̠͓̩͋̚͘u̴͙͉͖̤͒f̶͕̺͖̲̯̈̔́̓̚͝f̷͇̼͚͚͕̉̀̀͌́͘͠ę̸͂̆̒͑̓̽͘ŗ̸̪̙̬͕̟͉̈́̾̏ȉ̵̫̯̔ṉ̴̺̄̑̕g̸̞̹͈̍͒̏̌͒̄̚ ̴͓̫̖͕̞̓͛̑͜ḧ̷̲͖̺̀̂͆͂o̴̘͔̫͙̹͆ẇ̵̬̺̰͉͉͎̦̄̇ ̸̛̼̤̞͉͘d̸͈̫͊̇͐͋̓̏̕ǎ̶̞̞̜͕̒̓̍̉r̶̰̣̙̗̲͉͒͛̒͊͆̕e̸̡̗̼̩̩̊ͅ ̷͇̇̊ÿ̴̡̧̫̳̙̜̺́̋͛̓̀͠o̴̳̦͉̊͒͋͘u̸̳̗̎͋̽́͒͂̕ ̵̧̨̤̰̘̀v̷͚͔̯͔͊̓̾̾͊͘ḯ̴̤̬̖̪̙̣̑͐̕͜͠ẹ̵̞̮͗̇͗́w̴̤̣̞͊ ̸̢̒͂b̸̺̳̣̣̭̭̚͜l̷̛̹̽̓͝i̴̭̫͔̝̖͈̒͝HOLLOWr̶̮̦͌ē̵̡̂̒̔̏͝v̷͈̹̉e̷̦̹̥̟̭͕̿̄̒̍̚̚r̵͓͇͚̜̈͋̉̏̓̕͘͜ ̸̨̠̮̥͇̰̋̇̽͝ṫ̸̛̙ơ̷̢̢̜̻̗̱͑͂̌̃͜ ̷̜̒̑̅̈̅͝š̶̨̢̟̼̜̹̌̂͐l̴̥̪͌̎͜ë̴͙̜́̎ͅę̷̼͙͉̓p̸̞̖̦͝,̴̞̯͇͐͂͒̿̆͜͝ ̶̡͕̦̭͓͓͘ǫ̴̧̞̹̱̱̾̒̈́̉̀n̸̛͉̻̝̺̱̖̄̈l̶̖̞̣̰̙̩̋͌̔y̶̟͇͕͂͌͗̄̿̈́̏ ̴̛̜̘̝̪̏̇̑̈́͋͜ẗ̷̙́̅͗̓ö̶͕̫̠́̾́ ̴̛̺̈́a̸̫͕̪͊͒͆̿́̊͠w̸̯̦̘͂ă̵̰̼͕̬͉͆̉k̵͓̀̈́̓͐ě̴͇̝̣n̵̫͚͕̫̰̈́̑͆ ̷̨̧̪͎̞͈̃̓͆̾ͅh̸̡͓̹̦́͗́̾͘͘̕͜ͅo̵̹̐̐̅́͒́ḽ̶͑ĺ̴͎̬̐̃̈́o̷͎̤͓͉̖͐̃́̄̅̊̕͜w̴̢̲͈̬͍͓̲͐̈̅͗̒̿̌.̵̱̺̹̝̖̽̇͋̿̽̏̀ ̷̪͔̓̈̒̚͜S̷͚͍̰̋ú̵̫͚́̏̈́͛͠͠c̶̬̺̔h̶̥̺̻̱̽̆̽̋̅́ ̷̨̼̖̣̯̱̐̂i̵̹͖̟͖̮̇̆s̵̥̺͒̒̑̒̔͘ ̷̫̥̳̥̔̀̈́̓ț̵̆̚h̸̬̹̤̝̘̿ę̷̬̻̍ ̷̧̥͈̄̓̆̑̎c̸̛̹͇̪̩̣̪̒̇̿͗͜u̵̫̱̼̦̾̀̈̈́͐̂̂r̴̭̃͋̈̎̀̉͜s̵̨̨͈͚̀̈̊͠ę̴̗͚͎̖̞͌̆̂̇͌͝ ̷̦͎̰̭̯̲̿ͅǒ̴̪͇͙̈̊f̴̹̰̪͍̞̅͜ͅ ̶̜̗̘̫̲́͒̿͘͝t̸̜̩̗̪̟̫̆͆h̸͇̼̻͔̙̼̽̀e̸̩̙̲͕̯̐̏̈́ ̸̦̮̦͘õ̵̗̉̌͑̓̕͠n̷̡̐̈́̄e̵̹͚̦̟̓̀̍̔̈́̄ ̶̟͓͕̀̉͝ẁ̵͕̂͌͐i̷̢̯͔̖̙̅̂̎͜ṱ̴͆̈́͛̅h̷̢̨̭̫̺̰͓̑̍͊̑̔ ̸̢̥͇̓̔̊͗p̴͍̤̄̚͝ͅở̷͔̺̖̜̭͖͂̓͗͜w̷̖̭͕͈̃͆̈́͆ę̷̢̼̟͚̰̏r̸̢͖̫̻̼͋̿͌̾͆ ̷̩̬͓͆̒͛̾a̸̞͇͖̙̟̅͆̀̋̆̆͝ǹ̴̗͙̆̒̾͒͛̕d̴̦̫̥̈́͆ ̶̻̌̓́̈̕ẁ̷̧̪̮̟̽͜i̶̩͇̙̋̌̽͜ͅl̵̩̲̟̠̯͌̅ͅĺ̷̥́͗ ̴̱͑̏͋͊̚ṫ̵̥̺̈́͛̎́ō̷͈̙ ̸͇͈͑s̴̭̘͂̽̈́̿̑͝ḷ̶̤̣̀̕a̸̢̫̖̱͊̔y̴̪̦͕͆ ̸͔̹̪͊̽̕Ġ̴̗̝͓̹̪̼̄̌͆͗̂ö̵͓̳̳̏͋̏͝͠ḍ̴̹̀s̶͈̬̠̱̞̋.̵͚̖̎̀̐̿́̚͝H̶̢̲̙͖͎͔͚̿̀̿̽͝o̶̮͉̖̜͕̟̾w̴̱͓̠̬̄̚ ̵̤͎̜̄̅d̵̲͓̝̜͎̺̏̋̌͜a̴͙͖̺͎̅̈́̍̈r̴̮̻̙̱̠͌͆̈e̵̥̼͖͙̱̊ ̴̧̦̪͚̪̩̍̈́̉y̸̙̮̔̈́̆̆̿̂́ơ̶̘̮̜͇̟̼͜ǔ̶̧̺̖̙ ̴͚̤̀̄p̴̩͇͔̦̈́r̶̡͕͆̾̆̿̏́̓è̶̯͚͔͑͂͑t̸̡̻̭̃͝e̵̼̊̄̓ñ̶̡̢̦̬̰̎͜ḋ̷̳͕̙̫̻̉̋̈ ̴͙͎̥̳̹̤̰̑͗t̶̰̭̤̺͐͑̾͐͝͠͠ö̷̩̺̩̯̳́̆̈́͜ ̸̗̗̟̀c̶̢͕̮̥̗̰͆a̴̛̖͙͎͐̔͂͛̚r̶̝̱̬̲͍͇͒̿ë̶̻̲̲̆̈́̓̑ ̵̖̻̰͊̎́͒͌w̵̢̳̺̒͗̅̒i̸̢͕̯͑̐͆͗͜͜t̴̜͎̭̽̍͆̓͘͘͠ͅḧ̴̜̹̳̈́̈́̒̕ ̸͖̏̇̎̈͝t̵͖̖̞͑͂̍̕͜ḧ̶̡̖͍̦͚̰͈́͛̒̌e̴̙̩̪̥͇͈͕͊ ̷̰̏̽̓̓̓w̵͍̦̤͖̔̒̌̉͘͠e̵̻̗͙̘̖̍͜͝i̶̡̧̳̥͇͎͜͝g̷̻̜͖̜̏͂̀̂̈́h̵͚̤͒́̾̄̊̆t̴͇̼́̽̈́̚͝͠ ̷̺̳̤͙̝̉o̵͎̣̺͍͇̻̠͆̂f̵̣̤͙̩͍̲̻̒͝ ̶͕̱̜̓͌͋̿̉͠m̷̲̺̲̫̳̘̈̉͠ǫ̶̛͈̰̲̞̰͖̑́ù̸̠͙̬̿͘n̸̳̟̰̓͊̀̿͌̕t̴̛̠͔̻̩̹̊͐̄ḁ̵̢̣̖̽̌̓͑́͜͠i̸̜̞͌͛̒͂̎́͠n̶͎̺̾s̷͙̈́́̓͒ ̸̛̬͔͍̅͜ó̴͈̳͚̤̎̃̀̄ͅn̵̮̖̜͂ ̵̢̠̭̈́̍y̶̢̛̪̭̗͙̐̋o̸̧̎̐̓̐ư̵̧̺̳̣̪̬͌̃̐̆̚͝r̸͙͊̈́̄ ̸̨̧̘̜̠̂͜s̶̻̤̍͐͊͝ǫ̷͚͙̟͉͑̆̈́u̵̺̖̿͒̌l̸̰̠͎͕͔͐̅̑.̵̮̤̘̯̹̑̀̅̒ͅ ̶̢̲͑̈͘͘͠ͅŃ̸̢͍̭̆͜͠í̵͖̫̗͍̱͚̻̀͋̊͝ẗ̸̳̭̼̜̑͊ö̸̫̻̍ ̴̩̗͎͂͗̄̂̉̐h̶̙͒͝ả̶̼̟̙͈̺̬̗͐̐̂̅̍́d̶̢̛͔̖̽̚ ̶̲̮̠͛̄̔̚n̸͓̙̪̭͛̋̉͆͝ö̴͖̫̜̦̪̤́̿̈̽͘͜͝ť̶̠̿̈́ ̷̛̠̩̂̓̈́̑̔c̴̹̙̹̻͉̤̈́͆l̷̛͕͐͛̌̇a̷̺͖̩̓͗i̷̼̞̱̦̜͈̋̂͐͊͂̏m̷̬͓̘͗̐́̚ẹ̴̡̱̥͉̻̦́̿̆̄̂͒̀d̶̘̝̙̟̺̝͋ ̷̨͇̪̆̔̆̃̈́̀å̴͖̟͍̟̬͈͑̂s̷̹͋̋̈́͋͒̒͘ ̷̯͊̔̓̑͆̏̈́m̶̗̰̰̀͗̒͊̏̏͠ã̷͚̋̒͆͒̋ṉ̷̨͍̺̩͎̱͊̔̏̄̊ỵ̵̜̹̰̠͖̽̀̇̂͗ ̸̺̙̮̌̂͐͜á̶̡̬͔̺̀̓ͅͅs̶̡̛͓͇̍̆͝͝ ̴͈͖̞͖̹̀̿͂̀̕̚̕ͅẏ̷̧̛̀̚͝ö̴͈́̀ư̶̞̳̋̎́͝͝ͅ,̷̫̰̳͆̏̌̅͛̔͝ ̴̡̰̩̳̞̲̃͌̃̈͝n̵̳͖̜͂̈́̽̑̇͜͠o̸͓̭͓̊͊r̸͙͍̰̲͓͑̕͝ ̴̨̳̻̣̝̤̏̎ẖ̸̆ḁ̷̛̫͂̿͒̀̉͠ş̶͇̻̹̟͑́͘̚ ̷̣̟̲̏̄̓̿̽̋̈G̶̲̙̟̓̚w̷̦̹̼͍͔̓̿̅̓͐͋̚y̸̳̬͇̮͑͂̀̊̀͊̄n̸͍̜͕̽̈̓͋̅͊̚͜.̷̞͇̖̥̬̹̯̏ ̶̨̛͈̔̽̅͑Y̷͚͐͆͂͌͆̾o̶̹̫̔̃̊̍͛̂u̵͇̬̒ ̴̥̮̠̪̳̍̒͘̚͝a̵̛̗͊̐͆l̶̲̙̺̼̍̓͌̿̎̔̈o̷̻̳̳̺͠ń̸̼̼̪̯̥̯̆̒̕ḛ̴̢͖͈͉͈̺͒̏͂̔̚ ̶̝́͂̈͠͝a̶̖̮̩̗͖̹͊͂̽r̴̜͈͍͈̈̓͆͘ͅê̶̼͕̜̥̺̬̏ ̷̼̬̪̻̜̀̈̌̅̆̈̕t̶̖̪̹̉̆h̷̻̰̠̽e̷̲̿̾͂̊̕͘̕ ̶͖̤̫̫̩̀͂̐͘ȩ̵͖̦̓̕n̷͔̙̖͋̆̏́̂̀͘͜ḑ̵̠̱̖̎͛͝ ̶̧͖̤̻̻͂͛̃̐͗ȯ̴͚́̅f̵͍̖̥̓̿͒̓͝ ̶̩͒̓͘͠ā̷̱̰͕̫͙̐̈̚͘͝ḷ̵̨͇̳̙͛̂̐ͅl̶̬̺̭͑̈́͋̐͝,̸̡̱̝̪̹̖̋̐͂̓̽͌̔ͅ ̶̮̮̼̍ų̷̘̙̹͔̆̈́̕n̶͉̓͝d̸̹̜̍̽̈́̍͑͠ȩ̶͖͙̣̺͙̎͒̉̚s̶̥̮̻̻̯̱̋̐̉̕͝ȩ̸͉̲̀͊͠r̶͔̩̀ͅv̵̳͖̩̖̇̓̑͌̈́̊ī̷̱̳̜̜̕ṇ̷̡̛̅̈́͂̎͝g̸̳͕̦̬̒̚ ̵̢̯͇͊͑͒́o̶̙̤̔͊f̸͙̗̫̓̔̋̕ ̸̡̤̪̥̖͉̘̀̽̍̓p̷͙͙͙̾̌ͅŗ̸̯̰̱͂̈́̎à̷̺̦̻̺̼̣̘͊ĩ̶̻̱̃͐s̶̩̀͗͋͝e̶̛͔̱͗͌ ̸͙̘̹͌͝ö̴̻͕͍̯̼̰́̋̾̑̌̄ṙ̸͎̻͈̹͚̙ ̶̬̳̏̽̕c̵̛̊̓͜r̶̲͗̔͆̏̎̕͠ó̸̡̯̹̙͔̥̯w̴̘͖̻̥̖̒͒͒̋̈́͝n̴̝̖͈̹͛̕ ̶̗̣͔̤͇̩͋͐̎͐͂ỵ̷͗̈́̿̾͗ó̵̜̺̟̯̟͎̺̋ǔ̴̧̼͉̩̫̠̒ ̸̹̦̲͓̤͂͘͝m̸̟̗̰̓̄͆̚͝į̶͇͈̽͐̕n̸̰̭̝͍̋̒̑d̵͇͉̲͖̊͆̾͜l̸͔͇̜͗é̸̡̨̦̺̊s̷̩̬̤͕̯̪̉̄͛͘š̶̤̰̩̝̩̺͜l̸͎͙͗̑̀̃͜y̷͇̾̆̎͆̄̉͝ ̵̹̬͋̉̿̓̍̌p̸̛̫͇̓͋̅́́͠ù̶͇̣̤̪̓̏̚͜r̵͈͗̑̌̀͆̚͝ṣ̴̛͉͍͋̃̂̕u̷͔͍̦̍͛́̀̀̈͝ͅe̸̗̥̽͜d̵̛͍̮̭͇͇͑̐̀̾͗̚.̶͕̟̿̚ ̸̝̃͑͝F̷̛̳̥͕͉̰̲̪̅ă̵̠̫̬̼͋r̷̠̈̈́̃̉͠͠ ̶͇̙̬̦̜̥̫̽̋̒̎t̸͈̫̻́͋͆̿̿̉͝ó̶̭͚͛̒̉ȍ̵̢̹͔̼̰͙̫̑̌̃̚ ̸̰͌̿̈̈͐g̶͈̽̇̿̈́͝ư̵̥̱̐̂͘͜t̵̼͉̜͇͑̕l̸̖̘͓̖̦̙͑̇̚͠e̵̛̩͕͐s̴͕͙̼̪̦͚̳̾̓͒̅͊̀š̷̪͕͕̾̇̇͊͘ ̸̨̩̝̳̔̇ͅẗ̸̟̉̈́̀͋͌̚o̵̢̝͎͇̓́̈͜͠ͅ ̸̢̫͓̂̆̑͑͘̚͝c̸͎̟̱͇̅̈́̿̆̃͒l̶̩̼̟͊̅͋̔ͅá̸̢̢̛͍͈̰́ĩ̷̧̜͎̳̼̚͠m̷̨̖̰͆̆ ̵̨̩͔͖̞̘̩̅͘ê̵̗̗̟̻̥͙̅͋̍̅̀ḭ̴̼̖͍͓́͝t̴͖̤͔̫̪͉̣͋͐̑̌͌́h̸̬̰̺̭̰̿͑͊͝ę̵̱͔̟͇̻͍͂̄̑̕̚r̴͓̟̳̄̒͝,̵̨̯̹̼̮̤̌̊̓̃ ̶͉͖̤̉͐̒̃w̷͔̝̙͖̠̑̃̏o̷̩͎̍̅͋̿̚͝r̴͕̼̦̦̈́̽̎̋r̴͖̝͊͒̒͋͌ī̶̱̱̥͕̦̅̐͗̄è̴̹͓̟͝͝͠d̷̖̙̫̹̤̀ ̶̞̔̀̄͆ͅo̵̪͉̟̓̍f̶̤̭͒͌͜ ̷̧͚̻͖̚y̵̩͇̺̘͆̿ơ̴̧͈̥̬̽͒̈́̚ͅu̴̬͝r̸̡̡͉̻͙͉̂ ̵͈̆͘͝p̸̧̮̲̞͍̖͔͗̇ỉ̶̺̲͙̩̮̘̌̀́̄͋t̸̡̛̲͖͔̲͋̿͂̂̎͠ ̵̦̞̟̈͛̓͝d̷̳͇̝̜̺̪̈e̵̙̖̩̱͙̠̽ͅē̸̗̖p̶̪̱̂̑̀ ̸̻̲̭̞͖̠͔̒͝ẅ̴̧̛̯́̒̽̕̕ͅį̷̝̜̬͎̭͗t̵̟̤͊͐͒͂̕̚h̵̝̟̮̲͐̌i̸̠͚̍͠n̶̘̖̟̻̗̪̏ ̴̱̿t̵͍̼̭̀h̶͚̠͍̥̩̫̺̑̋̄̀̇͛ḙ̴̡͉̲̭̻̿͐̎̊̐̈́ ̶̳̲́̈́̓͠͝ḩ̴͉̋̌̊͜ę̷̖͍͕̆́̓̑̕ͅá̵͍r̵̡̖̥̐̀̅ṯ̴̑ ̸͔̆͗͗̇̓͒̚s̷̯͖̍̓̿̐̉̚o̵͍̿ ̵̧̧̣͇̗̔̈̚̚c̴̹͖̳̘̀̆́̎͆̀̕ȑ̶̢͖̀̍̋͗̄ǘ̶̢̥͔͇̣̫̒̈̋͋̔ͅd̶̲́̌͒̄̎͗̊ȅ̶͓̺̟͎̼͊̏͐ḷ̸̨̬̜͎̼́ͅŷ̴͕̜͙͇̋̊̎̊͛ ̴̞̙̪̙͖̜̀t̴̡̨̨̟̪̭͌o̸̮͉̠̒̈́͋̆̓̋r̷̡͌n̸̡̮͍͆̓͛.̸̨̨̪̻͛͋͒̄ ̸̧̣̣̬̳̈́̎C̸̹̫̥͐̏̓͐̋̚͝ȗ̵͚̤̯͍̖͙̒̎͗̽̕͝ŗ̶̻͍̳̖̜̓͝s̴̡̛̭̠͍̠͕̕ě̸̪̺͖̊͐͐ͅḑ̸̜͈͍̙̎̔͗ ̷̪͓̬͍̍̉͘͘b̷̢͓͙͙̲̮̔̅̈́̐̐ȩ̷͓͎̭͔̲̿͒̆̀̀͜͝ỉ̷̯͕͙̥̬̆̊̐͑n̸̹͈̻̿̍̚ͅg̷̭͓̘̀̓͊̽̄s̸̢͈̳̼̐́ ̷̯͔̥̦̞͕̌͘ẅ̴̡̢͓̳͚͈̤́̏h̸̢̩̺̤̞̺̜̀ờ̶̝́̆̒̓̚s̸̡͈͔̼̠̊ẹ̷̀̏͗̄̋̈ ̷̹͓̒͋̆s̷̡͕̘̺̱̲̰̈̈̃̆̌t̷̼̖̮͂ę̵̅̈́͝͝͝p̴̛͍̩̟̙͎͌̓̈̿͗̚͜s̵̳̩͐̍̔̒̀͝ ̵̼͇̥̈́ȩ̴̜͎͉͔̤̋̅c̴̢̛̱̟̠̝̭͊͂͗̋h̸͕̮͍̩͓͛̽̎͆̅̌o̶̡̳̤̮͗̍ ̸̧̼̺͆͐̇ţ̴͙̗̮͖̩̦͛̋̈ḩ̶͖͔̜̲͓̎͊͋̐̄͠͝ĕ̵̩̲̄̀̄͂͘ ̵̉̓̔̂͜c̶̛̙̼̠͊̈̕̕o̴̡̺̿m̷̛̤͛͒͠i̸̯̤̝͊͐̇̃͠n̷͍̥̘͔͙̠̦̓g̶̤͔͚̰̻̊͌͌͐́̕ ̷͇̟́̈̉͐͋͠ď̸̨͉̘̅̀͌̐̕e̷̢̫̱̱̍͝͝a̴̧̡͙̺͒̐t̷̪̦̟͖͖͊͜h̴̨̦̠͕̰̰̾̓͘̕̕,̶̭̿͋̽̏̍̌̀ ̵̪̞̫͆̈̉w̷̱̘͈̫̿ͅh̵̫͋o̷͓̰̪͖̭͔̖͆̀̉͆̈̋s̶̛̠̼͉̾͌̑͠ę̶̡̥̺̙̩̽̊ ̴̢͕̜̫͕̣̗̓̔́̓͂̃͝g̵͖̞͖̈́̐̕o̷̗̅̎̀͐̋̚ȁ̵̗̜̯̲͔̣̎̈́̽̾͝l̶̲͖̍̂͘ ̴̨̝̰̫͎̼̮̍͂͛s̵̪̭̞̗͉̔̂́̈̀ͅţ̴̭͈͓̬͕̻̿̃̎͊͌̕̕ë̸̢͈͚͇̈̒ě̵̖̣̞̫͕̲̪͌̈́͑̓̒͆p̵̠̲͑̅̀͜͜͠ȩ̴̛̙̜͊̂̚d̶̺̮̣̱͛̕ ̶͖͖̦̒̕͠i̵͇̗̘͖̟̓̾̔n̶̩̗͚̦͍͕͒̆̒́̌ ̷̧̱͇̱̤̋̉̔̽̕b̴̮̗͉̜͉̉͒͒̾̈e̶̳̼͚͍̞͜͝ẗ̶̡̪̠̻̪͚̍̀̀͐r̶̫̐̋a̷̛̼͍͕̬̎̽̊͒̋ͅÿ̵͙̺͍̭̝́̎̇͗â̸͍̮͚̥l̷̡̙̤̲̎̆̂̈́͌ ̸̨̞͔̪̯̠͑̂̑͒̈́̊ä̷͓̰̺̖͇͎͊̇͐͊͌͝ṋ̶̡̮̀͜d̵̦͍̓̌̾̾̀͗ ̷̠̘̳̮̭̊̆̊̐͛̌̂s̶̡̠͓̩͋̚͘u̴͙͉͖̤͒f̶͕̺͖̲̯̈̔́̓̚͝f̷͇̼͚͚͕̉̀̀͌́͘͠ę̸͂̆̒͑̓̽͘ŗ̸̪̙̬͕̟͉̈́̾̏ȉ̵̫̯̔ṉ̴̺̄̑̕g̸̞̹͈̍͒̏̌͒̄̚ ̴͓̫̖͕̞̓͛̑͜ḧ̷̲͖̺̀̂͆͂o̴̘͔̫͙̹͆ẇ̵̬̺̰͉͉͎̦̄̇ ̸̛̼̤̞͉͘d̸͈̫͊̇͐͋̓̏̕ǎ̶̞̞̜͕̒̓̍̉r̶̰̣̙̗̲͉͒͛̒͊͆̕e̸̡̗̼̩̩̊ͅ ̷͇̇̊ÿ̴̡̧̫̳̙̜̺́̋͛̓̀͠o̴̳̦͉̊͒͋͘u̸̳̗̎͋̽́͒͂̕ ̵̧̨̤̰̘̀v̷͚͔̯͔͊̓̾̾͊͘ḯ̴̤̬̖̪̙̣̑͐̕͜͠ẹ̵̞̮͗̇͗́w̴̤̣̞͊ ̸̢̒͂b̸̺̳̣̣̭̭̚͜l̷̛̹̽̓͝i̴̭̫͔̝̖͈̒͝s̴͖̣̳̝͕̎̍̿̀͝s̸̱̦̜͉͓̍͐̿f̷̥̄̆͆̐̆̓͋ų̵̭̠̰̙͉̹̂̀͗́̍̌l̷̫̣̱͛̄̚n̸̼͕̫͎̖̯̄̂CURSEDv̷͈̹̉e̷̦̹̥̟̭͕̿̄̒̍̚̚r̵͓͇͚̜̈͋̉̏̓̕͘͜ ̸̨̠̮̥͇̰̋̇̽͝ṫ̸̛̙ơ̷̢̢̜̻̗̱͑͂̌̃͜ ̷̜̒̑̅̈̅͝š̶̨̢̟̼̜̹̌̂͐l̴̥̪͌̎͜ë̴͙̜́̎ͅę̷̼͙͉̓p̸̞̖̦͝,̴̞̯͇͐͂͒̿̆͜͝ ̶̡͕̦̭͓͓͘ǫ̴̧̞̹̱̱̾̒̈́̉̀n̸̛͉̻̝̺̱̖̄̈l̶̖̞̣̰̙̩̋͌̔y̶̟͇͕͂͌͗̄̿̈́̏ ̴̛̜̘̝̪̏̇̑̈́͋͜ẗ̷̙́̅͗̓ö̶͕̫̠́̾́ ̴̛̺̈́a̸̫͕̪͊͒͆̿́̊͠w̸̯̦̘͂ă̵̰̼͕̬͉͆̉k̵͓̀̈́̓͐ě̴͇̝̣n̵̫͚͕̫̰̈́̑͆ ̷̨̧̪͎̞͈̃̓͆̾ͅh̸̡͓̹̦́͗́̾͘͘̕͜ͅo̵̹̐̐̅́͒́ḽ̶͑ĺ̴͎̬̐̃̈́o̷͎̤͓͉̖͐̃́̄̅̊̕͜w̴̢̲͈̬͍͓̲͐̈̅͗̒̿̌.̵̱̺̹̝̖̽̇͋̿̽̏̀ ̷̪͔̓̈̒̚͜S̷͚͍̰̋ú̵̫͚́̏̈́͛͠͠c̶̬̺̔h̶̥̺̻̱̽̆̽̋̅́ ̷̨̼̖̣̯̱̐̂i̵̹͖̟͖̮̇̆s̵̥̺͒̒̑̒̔͘ ̷̫̥̳̥̔̀̈́̓ț̵̆̚h̸̬̹̤̝̘̿ę̷̬̻̍ ̷̧̥͈̄̓̆̑̎c̸̛̹͇̪̩̣̪̒̇̿͗͜u̵̫̱̼̦̾̀̈̈́͐̂̂r̴̭̃͋̈̎̀̉͜s̵̨̨͈͚̀̈̊͠ę̴̗͚͎̖̞͌̆̂̇͌͝ ̷̦͎̰̭̯̲̿ͅǒ̴̪͇͙̈̊f̴̹̰̪͍̞̅͜ͅ ̶̜̗̘̫̲́͒̿͘͝t̸̜̩̗̪̟̫̆͆h̸͇̼̻͔̙̼̽̀e̸̩̙̲͕̯̐̏̈́ ̸̦̮̦͘õ̵̗̉̌͑̓̕͠n̷̡̐̈́̄e̵̹͚̦̟̓̀̍̔̈́̄ ̶̟͓͕̀̉͝ẁ̵͕̂͌͐i̷̢̯͔̖̙̅̂̎͜ṱ̴͆̈́͛̅h̷̢̨̭̫̺̰͓̑̍͊̑̔ ̸̢̥͇̓̔̊͗p̴͍̤̄̚͝ͅở̷͔̺̖̜̭͖͂̓͗͜w̷̖̭͕͈̃͆̈́͆ę̷̢̼̟͚̰̏r̸̢͖̫̻̼͋̿͌̾͆ ̷̩̬͓͆̒͛̾a̸̞͇͖̙̟̅͆̀̋̆̆͝ǹ̴̗͙̆̒̾͒͛̕d̴̦̫̥̈́͆ ̶̻̌̓́̈̕ẁ̷̧̪̮̟̽͜i̶̩͇̙̋̌̽͜ͅl̵̩̲̟̠̯͌̅ͅĺ̷̥́͗ ̴̱͑̏͋͊̚ṫ̵̥̺̈́͛̎́ō̷͈̙ ̸͇͈͑s̴̭̘͂̽̈́̿̑͝ḷ̶̤̣̀̕a̸̢̫̖̱͊̔y̴̪̦͕͆ ̸͔̹̪͊̽̕Ġ̴̗̝͓̹̪̼̄̌͆͗̂ö̵͓̳̳̏͋̏͝͠ḍ̴̹̀s̶͈̬̠̱̞̋H̶̢̲̙͖͎͔͚̿̀̿̽͝o̶̮͉̖̜͕̟̾w̴̱͓̠̬̄̚ ̵̤͎̜̄̅d̵̲͓̝̜͎̺̏̋̌͜a̴͙͖̺͎̅̈́̍̈r̴̮̻̙̱̠͌͆̈e̵̥̼͖͙̱̊ ̴̧̦̪͚̪̩̍̈́̉y̸̙̮̔̈́̆̆̿̂́ơ̶̘̮̜͇̟̼͜ǔ̶̧̺̖̙ ̴͚̤̀̄p̴̩͇͔̦̈́r̶̡͕͆̾̆̿̏́̓è̶̯͚͔͑͂͑t̸̡̻̭̃͝e̵̼̊̄̓ñ̶̡̢̦̬̰̎͜ḋ̷̳͕̙̫̻̉̋̈ ̴͙͎̥̳̹̤̰̑͗t̶̰̭̤̺͐͑̾͐͝͠͠ö̷̩̺̩̯̳́̆̈́͜ ̸̗̗̟̀c̶̢͕̮̥̗̰͆a̴̛̖͙͎͐̔͂͛̚r̶̝̱̬̲͍͇͒̿ë̶̻̲̲̆̈́̓̑ ̵̖̻̰͊̎́͒͌w̵̢̳̺̒͗̅̒i̸̢͕̯͑̐͆͗͜͜t̴̜͎̭̽̍͆̓͘͘͠ͅḧ̴̜̹̳̈́̈́̒̕ ̸͖̏̇̎̈͝t̵͖̖̞͑͂̍̕͜ḧ̶̡̖͍̦͚̰͈́͛̒̌e̴̙̩̪̥͇͈͕͊ ̷̰̏̽̓̓̓w̵͍̦̤͖̔̒̌̉͘͠e̵̻̗͙̘̖̍͜͝i̶̡̧̳̥͇͎͜͝g̷̻̜͖̜̏͂̀̂̈́h̵͚̤͒́̾̄̊̆t̴͇̼́̽̈́̚͝͠ ̷̺̳̤͙̝̉o̵͎̣̺͍͇̻̠͆̂f̵̣̤͙̩͍̲̻̒͝ ̶͕̱̜̓͌͋̿̉͠m̷̲̺̲̫̳̘̈̉͠ǫ̶̛͈̰̲̞̰͖̑́ù̸̠͙̬̿͘n̸̳̟̰̓͊̀̿͌̕t̴̛̠͔̻̩̹̊͐̄ḁ̵̢̣̖̽̌̓͑́͜͠i̸̜̞͌͛̒͂̎́͠n̶͎̺̾s̷͙̈́́̓͒ ̸̛̬͔͍̅͜ó̴͈̳͚̤̎̃̀̄ͅn̵̮̖̜͂ ̵̢̠̭̈́̍y̶̢̛̪̭̗͙̐̋o̸̧̎̐̓̐ư̵̧̺̳̣̪̬͌̃̐̆̚͝r̸͙͊̈́̄ ̸̨̧̘̜̠̂͜s̶̻̤̍͐͊͝ǫ̷͚͙̟͉͑̆̈́u̵̺̖̿͒̌l̸̰̠͎͕͔͐̅̑.̵̮̤̘̯̹̑̀̅̒ͅ ̶̢̲͑̈͘͘͠ͅŃ̸̢͍̭̆͜͠í̵͖̫̗͍̱͚̻̀͋̊͝ẗ̸̳̭̼̜̑͊ö̸̫̻̍ ̴̩̗͎͂͗̄̂̉̐h̶̙͒͝ả̶̼̟̙͈̺̬̗͐̐̂̅̍́d̶̢̛͔̖̽̚ ̶̲̮̠͛̄̔̚n̸͓̙̪̭͛̋̉͆͝ö̴͖̫̜̦̪̤́̿̈̽͘͜͝ť̶̠̿̈́ ̷̛̠̩̂̓̈́̑̔c̴̹̙̹̻͉̤̈́͆l̷̛͕͐͛̌̇a̷̺͖̩̓͗i̷̼̞̱̦̜͈̋̂͐͊͂̏m̷̬͓̘͗̐́̚ẹ̴̡̱̥͉̻̦́̿̆̄̂͒̀d̶̘̝̙̟̺̝͋ ̷̨͇̪̆̔̆̃̈́̀å̴͖̟͍̟̬͈͑̂s̷̹͋̋̈́͋͒̒͘ ̷̯͊̔̓̑͆̏̈́m̶̗̰̰̀͗̒͊̏̏͠ã̷͚̋̒͆͒̋ṉ̷̨͍̺̩͎̱͊̔̏̄̊ỵ̵̜̹̰̠͖̽̀̇̂͗ ̸̺̙̮̌̂͐͜á̶̡̬͔̺̀̓ͅͅs̶̡̛͓͇̍̆͝͝ ̴͈͖̞͖̹̀̿͂̀̕̚̕ͅẏ̷̧̛̀̚͝ö̴͈́̀ư̶̞̳̋̎́͝͝ͅ,̷̫̰̳͆̏̌̅͛̔͝ ̴̡̰̩̳̞̲̃͌̃̈͝n̵̳͖̜͂̈́̽̑̇͜͠o̸͓̭͓̊͊r̸͙͍̰̲͓͑̕͝ ̴̨̳̻̣̝̤̏̎ẖ̸̆ḁ̷̛̫͂̿͒̀̉͠ş̶͇̻̹̟͑́͘̚ ̷̣̟̲̏̄̓̿̽̋̈G̶̲̙̟̓̚w̷̦̹̼͍͔̓̿̅̓͐͋̚y̸̳̬͇̮͑͂̀̊̀͊̄n̸͍̜͕̽̈̓͋̅͊̚͜.̷̞͇̖̥̬̹̯̏ ̶̨̛͈̔̽̅͑Y̷͚͐͆͂͌͆̾o̶̹̫̔̃̊̍͛̂u̵͇̬̒ ̴̥̮̠̪̳̍̒͘̚͝a̵̛̗͊̐͆l̶̲̙̺̼̍̓͌̿̎̔̈o̷̻̳̳̺͠ń̸̼̼̪̯̥̯̆̒̕ḛ̴̢͖͈͉͈̺͒̏͂̔̚ ̶̝́͂̈͠͝a̶̖̮̩̗͖̹͊͂̽r̴̜͈͍͈̈̓͆͘ͅê̶̼͕̜̥̺̬̏ ̷̼̬̪̻̜̀̈̌̅̆̈̕t̶̖̪̹̉̆h̷̻̰̠̽e̷̲̿̾͂̊̕͘̕ ̶͖̤̫̫̩̀͂̐͘ȩ̵͖̦̓̕n̷͔̙̖͋̆̏́̂̀͘͜ḑ̵̠̱̖̎͛͝ ̶̧͖̤̻̻͂͛̃̐͗ȯ̴͚́̅f̵͍̖̥̓̿͒̓͝ ̶̩͒̓͘͠ā̷̱̰͕̫͙̐̈̚͘͝ḷ̵̨͇̳̙͛̂̐ͅl̶̬̺̭͑̈́͋̐͝,̸̡̱̝̪̹̖̋̐͂̓̽͌̔ͅ ̶̮̮̼̍ų̷̘̙̹͔̆̈́̕n̶͉̓͝d̸̹̜̍̽̈́̍͑͠ȩ̶͖͙̣̺͙̎͒̉̚s̶̥̮̻̻̯̱̋̐̉̕͝ȩ̸͉̲̀͊͠r̶͔̩̀ͅv̵̳͖̩̖̇̓̑͌̈́̊ī̷̱̳̜̜̕ṇ̷̡̛̅̈́͂̎͝g̸̳͕̦̬̒̚ ̵̢̯͇͊͑͒́o̶̙̤̔͊f̸͙̗̫̓̔̋̕ ̸̡̤̪̥̖͉̘̀̽̍̓p̷͙͙͙̾̌ͅŗ̸̯̰̱͂̈́̎à̷̺̦̻̺̼̣̘͊ĩ̶̻̱̃͐s̶̩̀͗͋͝e̶̛͔̱͗͌ ̸͙̘̹͌͝ö̴̻͕͍̯̼̰́̋̾̑̌̄ṙ̸͎̻͈̹͚̙ ̶̬̳̏̽̕c̵̛̊̓͜r̶̲͗̔͆̏̎̕͠ó̸̡̯̹̙͔̥̯w̴̘͖̻̥̖̒͒͒̋̈́͝n̴̝̖͈̹͛̕ ̶̗̣͔̤͇̩͋͐̎͐͂ỵ̷͗̈́̿̾͗ó̵̜̺̟̯̟͎̺̋ǔ̴̧̼͉̩̫̠̒ ̸̹̦̲͓̤͂͘͝m̸̟̗̰̓̄͆̚͝į̶͇͈̽͐̕n̸̰̭̝͍̋̒̑d̵͇͉̲͖̊͆̾͜l̸͔͇̜͗é̸̡̨̦̺̊s̷̩̬̤͕̯̪̉̄͛͘š̶̤̰̩̝̩̺͜l̸͎͙͗̑̀̃͜y̷͇̾̆̎͆̄̉͝ ̵̹̬͋̉̿̓̍̌p̸̛̫͇̓͋̅́́͠ù̶͇̣̤̪̓̏̚͜r̵͈͗̑̌̀͆̚͝ṣ̴̛͉͍͋̃̂̕u̷͔͍̦̍͛́̀̀̈͝ͅe̸̗̥̽͜d̵̛͍̮̭͇͇͑̐̀̾͗̚.̶͕̟̿̚ ̸̝̃͑͝F̷̛̳̥͕͉̰̲̪̅ă̵̠̫̬̼͋r̷̠̈̈́̃̉͠͠ ̶͇̙̬̦̜̥̫̽̋̒̎t̸͈̫̻́͋͆̿̿̉͝ó̶̭͚͛̒̉ȍ̵̢̹͔̼̰͙̫̑̌̃̚ ̸̰͌̿̈̈͐g̶͈̽̇̿̈́͝ư̵̥̱̐̂͘͜t̵̼͉̜͇͑̕l̸̖̘͓̖̦̙͑̇̚͠e̵̛̩͕͐s̴͕͙̼̪̦͚̳̾̓͒̅͊̀š̷̪͕͕̾̇̇͊͘ ̸̨̩̝̳̔̇ͅẗ̸̟̉̈́̀͋͌̚o̵̢̝͎͇̓́̈͜͠ͅ ̸̢̫͓̂̆̑͑͘̚͝c̸͎̟̱͇̅̈́̿̆̃͒l̶̩̼̟͊̅͋̔ͅá̸̢̢̛͍͈̰́ĩ̷̧̜͎̳̼̚͠m̷̨̖̰͆̆ ̵̨̩͔͖̞̘̩̅͘ê̵̗̗̟̻̥͙̅͋̍̅̀ḭ̴̼̖͍͓́͝t̴͖̤͔̫̪͉̣͋͐̑̌͌́h̸̬̰̺̭̰̿͑͊͝ę̵̱͔̟͇̻͍͂̄̑̕̚r̴͓̟̳̄̒͝,̵̨̯̹̼̮̤̌̊̓̃ ̶͉͖̤̉͐̒̃w̷͔̝̙͖̠̑̃̏o̷̩͎̍̅͋̿̚͝r̴͕̼̦̦̈́̽̎̋r̴͖̝͊͒̒͋͌ī̶̱̱̥͕̦̅̐͗̄è̴̹͓̟͝͝͠d̷̖̙̫̹̤̀ ̶̞̔̀̄͆ͅo̵̪͉̟̓̍f̶̤̭͒͌͜ ̷̧͚̻͖̚y̵̩͇̺̘͆̿ơ̴̧͈̥̬̽͒̈́̚ͅu̴̬͝r̸̡̡͉̻͙͉̂ ̵͈̆͘͝p̸̧̮̲̞͍̖͔͗̇ỉ̶̺̲͙̩̮̘̌̀́̄͋t̸̡̛̲͖͔̲͋̿͂̂̎͠ ̵̦̞̟̈͛̓͝d̷̳͇̝̜̺̪̈e̵̙̖̩̱͙̠̽ͅē̸̗̖p̶̪̱̂̑̀ ̸̻̲̭̞͖̠͔̒͝ẅ̴̧̛̯́̒̽̕̕ͅį̷̝̜̬͎̭͗t̵̟̤͊͐͒͂̕̚h̵̝̟̮̲͐̌i̸̠͚̍͠n̶̘̖̟̻̗̪̏ ̴̱̿t̵͍̼̭̀h̶͚̠͍̥̩̫̺̑̋̄̀̇͛ḙ̴̡͉̲̭̻̿͐̎̊̐̈́ ̶̳̲́̈́̓͠͝ḩ̴͉̋̌̊͜ę̷̖͍͕̆́̓̑̕ͅá̵͍r̵̡̖̥̐̀̅ṯ̴̑ ̸͔̆͗͗̇̓͒̚s̷̯͖̍̓̿̐̉̚o̵͍̿ ̵̧̧̣͇̗̔̈̚̚c̴̹͖̳̘̀̆́̎͆̀̕ȑ̶̢͖̀̍̋͗̄ǘ̶̢̥͔͇̣̫̒̈̋͋̔ͅd̶̲́̌͒̄̎͗̊ȅ̶͓̺̟͎̼͊̏͐ḷ̸̨̬̜͎̼́ͅŷ̴͕̜͙͇̋̊̎̊͛ ̴̞̙̪̙͖̜̀t̴̡̨̨̟̪̭͌o̸̮͉̠̒̈́͋̆̓̋r̷̡͌n̸̡̮͍͆̓͛.̸̨̨̪̻͛͋͒̄ ̸̧̣̣̬̳̈́̎C̸̹̫̥͐̏̓͐̋̚͝ȗ̵͚̤̯͍̖͙̒̎͗̽̕͝ŗ̶̻͍̳̖̜̓͝s̴̡̛̭̠͍̠͕̕ě̸̪̺͖̊͐͐ͅḑ̸̜͈͍̙̎̔͗ ̷̪͓̬͍̍̉͘͘b̷̢͓͙͙̲̮̔̅̈́̐̐ȩ̷͓͎̭͔̲̿͒̆̀̀͜͝ỉ̷̯͕͙̥̬̆̊̐͑n̸̹͈̻̿̍̚ͅg̷̭͓̘̀̓͊̽̄s̸̢͈̳̼̐́ ̷̯͔̥̦̞͕̌͘ẅ̴̡̢͓̳͚͈̤́̏h̸̢̩̺̤̞̺̜̀ờ̶̝́̆̒̓̚s̸̡͈͔̼̠̊ẹ̷̀̏͗̄̋̈ ̷̹͓̒͋̆s̷̡͕̘̺̱̲̰̈̈̃̆̌t̷̼̖̮͂ę̵̅̈́͝͝͝p̴̛͍̩̟̙͎͌̓̈̿͗̚͜s̵̳̩͐̍̔̒̀͝ ̵̼͇̥̈́ȩ̴̜͎͉͔̤̋̅c̴̢̛̱̟̠̝̭͊͂͗̋h̸͕̮͍̩͓͛̽̎͆̅̌o̶̡̳̤̮͗̍ ̸̧̼̺͆͐̇ţ̴͙̗̮͖̩̦͛̋̈ḩ̶͖͔̜̲͓̎͊͋̐̄͠͝ĕ̵̩̲̄̀̄͂͘ ̵̉̓̔̂͜c̶̛̙̼̠͊̈̕̕o̴̡̺̿m̷̛̤͛͒͠i̸̯̤̝͊͐̇̃͠n̷͍̥̘͔͙̠̦̓g̶̤͔͚̰̻̊͌͌͐́̕ ̷͇̟́̈̉͐͋͠ď̸̨͉̘̅̀͌̐̕e̷̢̫̱̱̍͝͝a̴̧̡͙̺͒̐t̷̪̦̟͖͖͊͜h̴̨̦̠͕̰̰̾̓͘̕̕,̶̭̿͋̽̏̍̌̀ ̵̪̞̫͆̈̉w̷̱̘͈̫̿ͅh̵̫͋o̷͓̰̪͖̭͔̖͆̀̉͆̈̋s̶̛̠̼͉̾͌̑͠ę̶̡̥̺̙̩̽̊ ̴̢͕̜̫͕̣̗̓̔́̓͂̃͝g̵͖̞͖̈́̐̕o̷̗̅̎̀͐̋̚ȁ̵̗̜̯̲͔̣̎̈́̽̾͝l̶̲͖̍̂͘ ̴̨̝̰̫͎̼̮̍͂͛s̵̪̭̞̗͉̔̂́̈̀ͅţ̴̭͈͓̬͕̻̿̃̎͊͌̕̕ë̸̢͈͚͇̈̒ě̵̖̣̞̫͕̲̪͌̈́͑̓̒͆p̵̠̲͑̅̀͜͜͠ȩ̴̛̙̜͊̂̚d̶̺̮̣̱͛̕ ̶͖͖̦̒̕͠i̵͇̗̘͖̟̓̾̔n̶̩̗͚̦͍͕͒̆̒́̌ ̷̧̱͇̱̤̋̉̔̽̕b̴̮̗͉̜͉̉͒͒̾̈e̶̳̼͚͍̞͜͝ẗ̶̡̪̠̻̪͚̍̀̀͐r̶̫̐̋a̷̛̼͍͕̬̎̽̊͒̋ͅÿ̵͙̺͍̭̝́̎̇͗â̸͍̮͚̥l̷̡̙̤̲̎̆̂̈́͌ ̸̨̞͔̪̯̠͑̂̑͒̈́̊ä̷͓̰̺̖͇͎͊̇͐͊͌͝ṋ̶̡̮̀͜d̵̦͍̓̌̾̾̀͗ ̷̠̘̳̮̭̊̆̊̐͛̌̂s̶̡̠͓̩͋̚͘u̴͙͉͖̤͒f̶͕̺͖̲̯̈̔́̓̚͝f̷͇̼͚͚͕̉̀̀͌́͘͠ę̸͂̆̒͑̓̽͘ŗ̸̪̙̬͕̟͉̈́̾̏ȉ̵̫̯̔ṉ̴̺̄̑̕g̸̞̹͈̍͒̏̌͒̄̚ ̴͓̫̖͕̞̓͛̑͜ḧ̷̲͖̺̀̂͆͂o̴̘͔̫͙̹͆ẇ̵̬̺̰͉͉͎̦̄̇ ̸̛̼̤̞͉͘d̸͈̫͊̇͐͋̓̏̕ǎ̶̞̞̜͕̒̓̍̉r̶̰̣̙̗̲͉͒͛̒͊͆̕e̸̡̗̼̩̩̊ͅ ̷͇̇̊ÿ̴̡̧̫̳̙̜̺́̋͛̓̀͠o̴̳̦͉̊͒͋͘u̸̳̗̎͋̽́͒͂̕ ̵̧̨̤̰̘̀v̷͚͔̯͔͊̓̾̾͊͘ḯ̴̤̬̖̪̙̣̑͐̕͜͠ẹ̵̞̮͗̇͗́w̴̤̣̞͊ ̸̢̒͂b̸̺̳̣̣̭̭̚͜l̷̛̹̽̓͝i̴̭̫͔̝̖͈̒͝s̴͖̣̳̝͕̎̍̿̀͝s̸̱̦̜͉͓̍͐̿f̷̥̄̆͆̐̆̓͋ų̵̭̠̰̙͉̹̂̀͗́̍̌l̷̫̣̱͛̄̚n̸̼͕̫͎̖̯̄̂ë̵͙́̉̀͋̈͛ś̴̟̺̘͜ş̵͔͕͖̈́͜.̶̩̝́́̂́̏ ̸̢̠̦͕̈̐̚F̴͈͉̱̲̹͈͕̆ä̸̛̮̯̺͈̬̭̻̒̀̍͆̔ļ̷͓͓͉̝̐̓l̷̡͇̟͇̗̹͓̽ ̶̪̻̝͔̬͎͖̏̓͛̋f̵̧̪̙̠͋̿̓̉͗̎͠ȏ̴̻̤̹͕͍͜r̶̮̦͌ē̵̡̂̒̔̏͝v̷͈̹̉e̷̦̹̥̟̭͕̿̄̒̍̚̚r̵͓͇͚̜̈͋̉̏̓̕͘͜ ̸̨̠̮̥͇̰̋̇̽͝ṫ̸̛̙ơ̷̢̢̜̻̗̱͑͂̌̃͜ ̷̜̒̑̅̈̅͝š̶̨̢̟̼̜̹̌̂͐l̴̥̪͌̎͜ë̴͙̜́̎ͅę̷̼͙͉̓p̸̞̖̦͝,̴̞̯͇͐͂͒̿̆͜͝ ̶̡͕̦̭͓͓͘ǫ̴̧̞̹̱̱̾̒̈́̉̀n̸̛͉̻̝̺̱̖̄̈l̶̖̞̣̰̙̩̋͌̔y̶̟͇͕͂͌͗̄̿̈́̏ ̴̛̜̘̝̪̏̇̑̈́͋͜ẗ̷̙́̅͗̓ö̶͕̫̠́̾́ ̴̛̺̈́a̸̫͕̪͊͒͆̿́̊͠w̸̯̦̘͂ă̵̰̼͕̬͉͆̉k̵͓̀̈́̓͐ě̴͇̝̣n̵̫͚͕̫̰̈́̑͆ ̷̨̧̪͎̞͈̃̓͆̾ͅh̸̡͓̹̦́͗́̾͘͘̕͜ͅo̵̹̐̐̅́͒́ḽ̶͑ĺ̴͎̬̐̃̈́o̷͎̤͓͉̖͐̃́̄̅̊̕͜w̴̢̲͈̬͍͓̲͐̈̅͗̒̿̌.̵̱̺̹̝̖̽̇͋̿̽̏̀ ̷̪͔̓̈̒̚͜S̷͚͍̰̋ú̵̫͚́̏̈́͛͠͠c̶̬̺̔h̶̥̺̻̱̽̆̽̋̅́ ̷̨̼̖̣̯̱̐̂i̵̹͖̟͖̮̇̆s̵̥̺͒̒̑̒̔͘ ̷̫̥̳̥̔̀̈́̓ț̵̆̚h̸̬̹̤̝̘̿ę̷̬̻̍ ̷̧̥͈̄̓̆̑̎c̸̛̹͇̪̩̣̪̒̇̿͗͜u̵̫̱̼̦̾̀̈̈́͐̂̂r̴̭̃͋̈̎̀̉͜s̵̨̨͈͚̀̈̊͠ę̴̗͚͎̖̞͌̆̂̇͌͝ ̷̦͎̰̭̯̲̿ͅǒ̴̪͇͙̈̊f̴̹̰̪͍̞̅͜ͅ ̶̜̗̘̫̲́͒̿͘͝t̸̜̩̗̪̟̫̆͆h̸͇̼̻͔̙̼̽̀e̸̩̙̲͕̯̐̏̈́ ̸̦̮̦͘õ̵̗̉̌͑̓̕͠n̷̡̐̈́̄e̵̹͚̦̟̓̀̍̔̈́̄ ̶̟͓͕̀̉͝ẁ̵͕̂͌͐i̷̢̯͔̖̙̅̂̎͜ṱ̴͆̈́͛̅h̷̢̨̭̫̺̰͓̑̍͊̑̔ ̸̢̥͇̓̔̊͗p̴͍̤̄̚͝ͅở̷͔̺̖̜̭͖͂̓͗͜w̷̖̭͕͈̃͆̈́͆ę̷̢̼̟͚̰̏r̸̢͖̫̻̼͋̿͌̾͆ ̷̩̬͓͆̒͛̾a̸̞͇͖̙̟̅͆̀̋̆̆͝ǹ̴̗͙̆̒̾͒͛̕d̴̦̫̥̈́͆ ̶̻̌̓́̈̕ẁ̷̧̪̮̟̽͜i̶̩͇̙̋̌̽͜ͅl̵̩̲̟̠̯͌̅ͅĺ̷̥́͗ ̴̱͑̏͋͊̚ṫ̵̥̺̈́͛̎́ō̷͈̙ ̸͇͈͑s̴̭̘͂̽̈́̿̑͝ḷ̶̤̣̀̕a̸̢̫̖̱͊̔y̴̪̦͕͆ ̸͔̹̪͊̽̕Ġ̴̗̝͓̹̪̼̄̌͆͗̂ö̵͓̳̳̏͋̏͝͠ḍ̴̹̀s̶͈̬̠̱̞̋H̶̢̲̙͖͎͔͚̿̀̿̽͝o̶̮͉̖̜͕̟̾w̴̱͓̠̬̄̚ ̵̤͎̜̄̅d̵̲͓̝̜͎̺̏̋̌͜a̴͙͖̺͎̅̈́̍̈r̴̮̻̙̱̠͌͆̈e̵̥̼͖͙̱̊ ̴̧̦̪͚̪̩̍̈́̉y̸̙̮̔̈́̆̆̿̂́ơ̶̘̮̜͇̟̼͜ǔ̶̧̺̖̙ ̴͚̤̀̄p̴̩͇͔̦̈́r̶̡͕͆̾̆̿̏́̓è̶̯͚͔͑͂͑t̸̡̻̭̃͝e̵̼̊̄̓ñ̶̡̢̦̬̰̎͜DARKë̶̻̲̲̆̈́̓̑ ̵̖̻̰͊̎́͒͌w̵̢̳̺̒͗̅̒i̸̢͕̯͑̐͆͗͜͜t̴̜͎̭̽̍͆̓͘͘͠ͅḧ̴̜̹̳̈́̈́̒̕ ̸͖̏̇̎̈͝t̵͖̖̞͑͂̍̕͜ḧ̶̡̖͍̦͚̰͈́͛̒̌e̴̙̩̪̥͇͈͕͊ ̷̰̏̽̓̓̓w̵͍̦̤͖̔̒̌̉͘͠e̵̻̗͙̘̖̍͜͝i̶̡̧̳̥͇͎͜͝g̷̻̜͖̜̏͂̀̂̈́h̵͚̤͒́̾̄̊̆t̴͇̼́̽̈́̚͝͠ ̷̺̳̤͙̝̉o̵͎̣̺͍͇̻̠͆̂f̵̣̤͙̩͍̲̻̒͝ ̶͕̱̜̓͌͋̿̉͠m̷̲̺̲̫̳̘̈̉͠ǫ̶̛͈̰̲̞̰͖̑́ù̸̠͙̬̿͘n̸̳̟̰̓͊̀̿͌̕t̴̛̠͔̻̩̹̊͐̄ḁ̵̢̣̖̽̌̓͑́͜͠i̸̜̞͌͛̒͂̎́͠n̶͎̺̾s̷͙̈́́̓͒ ̸̛̬͔͍̅͜ó̴͈̳͚̤̎̃̀̄ͅn̵̮̖̜͂ ̵̢̠̭̈́̍y̶̢̛̪̭̗͙̐̋o̸̧̎̐̓̐ư̵̧̺̳̣̪̬͌̃̐̆̚͝r̸͙͊̈́̄ ̸̨̧̘̜̠̂͜s̶̻̤̍͐͊͝ǫ̷͚͙̟͉͑̆̈́u̵̺̖̿͒̌l̸̰̠͎͕͔͐̅̑.̵̮̤̘̯̹̑̀̅̒ͅ ̶̢̲͑̈͘͘͠ͅŃ̸̢͍̭̆͜͠í̵͖̫̗͍̱͚̻̀͋̊͝ẗ̸̳̭̼̜̑͊ö̸̫̻̍ ̴̩̗͎͂͗̄̂̉̐h̶̙͒͝ả̶̼̟̙͈̺̬̗͐̐̂̅̍́d̶̢̛͔̖̽̚ ̶̲̮̠͛̄̔̚n̸͓̙̪̭͛̋̉͆͝ö̴͖̫̜̦̪̤́̿̈̽͘͜͝ť̶̠̿̈́ ̷̛̠̩̂̓̈́̑̔c̴̹̙̹̻͉̤̈́͆l̷̛͕͐͛̌̇a̷̺͖̩̓͗i̷̼̞̱̦̜͈̋̂͐͊͂̏m̷̬͓̘͗̐́̚ẹ̴̡̱̥͉̻̦́̿̆̄̂͒̀d̶̘̝̙̟̺̝͋ ̷̨͇̪̆̔̆̃̈́̀å̴͖̟͍̟̬͈͑̂s̷̹͋̋̈́͋͒̒͘ ̷̯͊̔̓̑͆̏̈́m̶̗̰̰̀͗̒͊̏̏͠ã̷͚̋̒͆͒̋ṉ̷̨͍̺̩͎̱͊̔̏̄̊ỵ̵̜̹̰̠͖̽̀̇̂͗ ̸̺̙̮̌̂͐͜á̶̡̬͔̺̀̓ͅͅs̶̡̛͓͇̍̆͝͝ ̴͈͖̞͖̹̀̿͂̀̕̚̕ͅẏ̷̧̛̀̚͝ö̴͈́̀ư̶̞̳̋̎́͝͝ͅ,̷̫̰̳͆̏̌̅͛̔͝ ̴̡̰̩̳̞̲̃͌̃̈͝n̵̳͖̜͂̈́̽̑̇͜͠o̸͓̭͓̊͊r̸͙͍̰̲͓͑̕͝ ̴̨̳̻̣̝̤̏̎ẖ̸̆ḁ̷̛̫͂̿͒̀̉͠ş̶͇̻̹̟͑́͘̚ ̷̣̟̲̏̄̓̿̽̋̈G̶̲̙̟̓̚w̷̦̹̼͍͔̓̿̅̓͐͋̚y̸̳̬͇̮͑͂̀̊̀͊̄n̸͍̜͕̽̈̓͋̅͊̚͜.̷̞͇̖̥̬̹̯̏ ̶̨̛͈̔̽̅͑Y̷͚͐͆͂͌͆̾o̶̹̫̔̃̊̍͛̂u̵͇̬̒ ̴̥̮̠̪̳̍̒͘̚͝a̵̛̗͊̐͆l̶̲̙̺̼̍̓͌̿̎̔̈o̷̻̳̳̺͠ń̸̼̼̪̯̥̯̆̒̕ḛ̴̢͖͈͉͈̺͒̏͂̔̚ ̶̝́͂̈͠͝a̶̖̮̩̗͖̹͊͂̽r̴̜͈͍͈̈̓͆͘ͅê̶̼͕̜̥̺̬̏ ̷̼̬̪̻̜̀̈̌̅̆̈̕t̶̖̪̹̉̆h̷̻̰̠̽e̷̲̿̾͂̊̕͘̕ ̶͖̤̫̫̩̀͂̐͘ȩ̵͖̦̓̕n̷͔̙̖͋̆̏́̂̀͘͜ḑ̵̠̱̖̎͛͝ ̶̧͖̤̻̻͂͛̃̐͗ȯ̴͚́̅f̵͍̖̥̓̿͒̓͝ ̶̩͒̓͘͠ā̷̱̰͕̫͙̐̈̚͘͝ḷ̵̨͇̳̙͛̂̐ͅl̶̬̺̭͑̈́͋̐͝,̸̡̱̝̪̹̖̋̐͂̓̽͌̔ͅ ̶̮̮̼̍ų̷̘̙̹͔̆̈́̕n̶͉̓͝d̸̹̜̍̽̈́̍͑͠ȩ̶͖͙̣̺͙̎͒̉̚s̶̥̮̻̻̯̱̋̐̉̕͝ȩ̸͉̲̀͊͠r̶͔̩̀ͅv̵̳͖̩̖̇̓̑͌̈́̊ī̷̱̳̜̜̕ṇ̷̡̛̅̈́͂̎͝g̸̳͕̦̬̒̚ ̵̢̯͇͊͑͒́o̶̙̤̔͊f̸͙̗̫̓̔̋̕ ̸̡̤̪̥̖͉̘̀̽̍̓p̷͙͙͙̾̌ͅŗ̸̯̰̱͂̈́̎à̷̺̦̻̺̼̣̘͊ĩ̶̻̱̃͐s̶̩̀͗͋͝e̶̛͔̱͗͌ ̸͙̘̹͌͝ö̴̻͕͍̯̼̰́̋̾̑̌̄ṙ̸͎̻͈̹͚̙ ̶̬̳̏̽̕c̵̛̊̓͜r̶̲͗̔͆̏̎̕͠ó̸̡̯̹̙͔̥̯w̴̘͖̻̥̖̒͒͒̋̈́͝n̴̝̖͈̹͛̕ ̶̗̣͔̤͇̩͋͐̎͐͂ỵ̷͗̈́̿̾͗ó̵̜̺̟̯̟͎̺̋ǔ̴̧̼͉̩̫̠̒ ̸̹̦̲͓̤͂͘͝m̸̟̗̰̓̄͆̚͝į̶͇͈̽͐̕n̸̰̭̝͍̋̒̑d̵͇͉̲͖̊͆̾͜l̸͔͇̜͗é̸̡̨̦̺̊s̷̩̬̤͕̯̪̉̄͛͘š̶̤̰̩̝̩̺͜l̸͎͙͗̑̀̃͜y̷͇̾̆̎͆̄̉͝ ̵̹̬͋̉̿̓̍̌p̸̛̫͇̓͋̅́́͠ù̶͇̣̤̪̓̏̚͜r̵͈͗̑̌̀͆̚͝ṣ̴̛͉͍͋̃̂̕u̷͔͍̦̍͛́̀̀̈͝ͅe̸̗̥̽͜d̵̛͍̮̭͇͇͑̐̀̾͗̚.̶͕̟̿̚ ̸̝̃͑͝F̷̛̳̥͕͉̰̲̪̅ă̵̠̫̬̼͋r̷̠̈̈́̃̉͠͠ ̶͇̙̬̦̜̥̫̽̋̒̎t̸͈̫̻́͋͆̿̿̉͝ó̶̭͚͛̒̉ȍ̵̢̹͔̼̰͙̫̑̌̃̚ ̸̰͌̿̈̈͐g̶͈̽̇̿̈́͝ư̵̥̱̐̂͘͜t̵̼͉̜͇͑̕l̸̖̘͓̖̦̙͑̇̚͠e̵̛̩͕͐s̴͕͙̼̪̦͚̳̾̓͒̅͊̀š̷̪͕͕̾̇̇͊͘ ̸̨̩̝̳̔̇ͅẗ̸̟̉̈́̀͋͌̚o̵̢̝͎͇̓́̈͜͠ͅ ̸̢̫͓̂̆̑͑͘̚͝c̸͎̟̱͇̅̈́̿̆̃͒l̶̩̼̟͊̅͋̔ͅá̸̢̢̛͍͈̰́ĩ̷̧̜͎̳̼̚͠m̷̨̖̰͆̆ ̵̨̩͔͖̞̘̩̅͘ê̵̗̗̟̻̥͙̅͋̍̅̀ḭ̴̼̖͍͓́͝t̴͖̤͔̫̪͉̣͋͐̑̌͌́h̸̬̰̺̭̰̿͑͊͝ę̵̱͔̟͇̻͍͂̄̑̕̚r̴͓̟̳̄̒͝,̵̨̯̹̼̮̤̌̊̓̃ ̶͉͖̤̉͐̒̃w̷͔̝̙͖̠̑̃̏o̷̩͎̍̅͋̿̚͝r̴͕̼̦̦̈́̽̎̋r̴͖̝͊͒̒͋͌ī̶̱̱̥͕̦̅̐͗̄è̴̹͓̟͝͝͠d̷̖̙̫̹̤̀ ̶̞̔̀̄͆ͅo̵̪͉̟̓̍f̶̤̭͒͌͜ ̷̧͚̻͖̚y̵̩͇̺̘͆̿ơ̴̧͈̥̬̽͒̈́̚ͅu̴̬͝r̸̡̡͉̻͙͉̂ ̵͈̆͘͝p̸̧̮̲̞͍̖͔͗̇ỉ̶̺̲͙̩̮̘̌̀́̄͋t̸̡̛̲͖͔̲͋̿͂̂̎͠ ̵̦̞̟̈͛̓͝d̷̳͇̝̜̺̪̈e̵̙̖̩̱͙̠̽ͅē̸̗̖p̶̪̱̂̑̀ ̸̻̲̭̞͖̠͔̒͝ẅ̴̧̛̯́̒̽̕̕ͅį̷̝̜̬͎̭͗t̵̟̤͊͐͒͂̕̚h̵̝̟̮̲͐̌i̸̠͚̍͠n̶̘̖̟̻̗̪̏ ̴̱̿t̵͍̼̭̀h̶͚̠͍̥̩̫̺̑̋̄̀̇͛ḙ̴̡͉̲̭̻̿͐̎̊̐̈́ ̶̳̲́̈́̓͠͝ḩ̴͉̋̌̊͜ę̷̖͍͕̆́̓̑̕ͅá̵͍r̵̡̖̥̐̀̅ṯ̴̑ ̸͔̆͗͗̇̓͒̚s̷̯͖̍̓̿̐̉̚o̵͍̿ ̵̧̧̣͇̗̔̈̚̚c̴̹͖̳̘̀̆́̎͆̀̕ȑ̶̢͖̀̍̋͗̄ǘ̶̢̥͔͇̣̫̒̈̋͋̔ͅd̶̲́̌͒̄̎͗̊ȅ̶͓̺̟͎̼͊̏͐ḷ̸̨̬̜͎̼́ͅŷ̴͕̜͙͇̋̊̎̊͛ ̴̞̙̪̙͖̜̀t̴̡̨̨̟̪̭͌o̸̮͉̠̒̈́͋̆̓̋r̷̡͌n̸̡̮͍͆̓͛.̸̨̨̪̻͛͋͒̄ ̸̧̣̣̬̳̈́̎C̸̹̫̥͐̏̓͐̋̚͝ȗ̵͚̤̯͍̖͙̒̎͗̽̕͝ŗ̶̻͍̳̖̜̓͝s̴̡̛̭̠͍̠͕̕ě̸̪̺͖̊͐͐ͅḑ̸̜͈͍̙̎̔͗ ̷̪͓̬͍̍̉͘͘b̷̢͓͙͙̲̮̔̅̈́̐̐ȩ̷͓͎̭͔̲̿͒̆̀̀͜͝ỉ̷̯͕͙̥̬̆̊̐͑n̸̹͈̻̿̍̚ͅg̷̭͓̘̀̓͊̽̄s̸̢͈̳̼̐́ ̷̯͔̥̦̞͕̌͘ẅ̴̡̢͓̳͚͈̤́̏h̸̢̩̺̤̞̺̜̀ờ̶̝́̆̒̓̚s̸̡͈͔̼̠̊ẹ̷̀̏͗̄̋̈ ̷̹͓̒͋̆s̷̡͕̘̺̱̲̰̈̈̃̆̌t̷̼̖̮͂ę̵̅̈́͝͝͝p̴̛͍̩̟̙͎͌̓̈̿͗̚͜s̵̳̩͐̍̔̒̀͝ ̵̼͇̥̈́ȩ̴̜͎͉͔̤̋̅c̴̢̛̱̟̠̝̭͊͂͗̋h̸͕̮͍̩͓͛̽̎͆̅̌o̶̡̳̤̮͗̍ ̸̧̼̺͆͐̇ţ̴͙̗̮͖̩̦͛̋̈ḩ̶͖͔̜̲͓̎͊͋̐̄͠͝ĕ̵̩̲̄̀̄͂͘ ̵̉̓̔̂͜c̶̛̙̼̠͊̈̕̕o̴̡̺̿m̷̛̤͛͒͠i̸̯̤̝͊͐̇̃͠n̷͍̥̘͔͙̠̦̓g̶̤͔͚̰̻̊͌͌͐́̕ ̷͇̟́̈̉͐͋͠ď̸̨͉̘̅̀͌̐̕e̷̢̫̱̱̍͝͝a̴̧̡͙̺͒̐t̷̪̦̟͖͖͊͜h̴̨̦̠͕̰̰̾̓͘̕̕,̶̭̿͋̽̏̍̌̀ ̵̪̞̫͆̈̉w̷̱̘͈̫̿ͅh̵̫͋o̷͓̰̪͖̭͔̖͆̀̉͆̈̋s̶̛̠̼͉̾͌̑͠ę̶̡̥̺̙̩̽̊ ̴̢͕̜̫͕̣̗̓̔́̓͂̃͝g̵͖̞͖̈́̐̕o̷̗̅̎̀͐̋̚ȁ̵̗̜̯̲͔̣̎̈́̽̾͝l̶̲͖̍̂͘ ̴̨̝̰̫͎̼̮̍͂͛s̵̪̭̞̗͉̔̂́̈̀ͅţ̴̭͈͓̬͕̻̿̃̎͊͌̕̕ë̸̢͈͚͇̈̒ě̵̖̣̞̫͕̲̪͌̈́͑̓̒͆p̵̠̲͑̅̀͜͜͠ȩ̴̛̙̜͊̂̚d̶̺̮̣̱͛̕ ̶͖͖̦̒̕͠i̵͇̗̘͖̟̓̾̔n̶̩̗͚̦͍͕͒̆̒́̌ ̷̧̱͇̱̤̋̉̔̽̕b̴̮̗͉̜͉̉͒͒̾̈e̶̳̼͚͍̞͜͝ẗ̶̡̪̠̻̪͚̍̀̀͐r̶̫̐̋a̷̛̼͍͕̬̎̽̊͒̋ͅÿ̵͙̺͍̭̝́̎̇͗â̸͍̮͚̥l̷̡̙̤̲̎̆̂̈́͌ ̸̨̞͔̪̯̠͑̂̑͒̈́̊ä̷͓̰̺̖͇͎͊̇͐͊͌͝ṋ̶̡̮̀͜d̵̦͍̓̌̾̾̀͗ ̷̠̘̳̮̭̊̆̊̐͛̌̂s̶̡̠͓̩͋̚͘u̴͙͉͖̤͒f̶͕̺͖̲̯̈̔́̓̚͝f̷͇̼͚͚͕̉̀̀͌́͘͠ę̸͂̆̒͑̓̽͘ŗ̸̪̙̬͕̟͉̈́̾̏ȉ̵̫̯̔ṉ̴̺̄̑̕g̸̞̹͈̍͒̏̌͒̄̚ ̴͓̫̖͕̞̓͛̑͜ḧ̷̲͖̺̀̂͆͂o̴̘͔̫͙̹͆ẇ̵̬̺̰͉͉͎̦̄̇ ̸̛̼̤̞͉͘d̸͈̫͊̇͐͋̓̏̕ǎ̶̞̞̜͕̒̓̍̉r̶̰̣̙̗̲͉͒͛̒͊͆̕e̸̡̗̼̩̩̊ͅ ̷͇̇̊ÿ̴̡̧̫̳̙̜̺́̋͛̓̀͠o̴̳̦͉̊͒͋͘u̸̳̗̎͋̽́͒͂̕ ̵̧̨̤̰̘̀v̷͚͔̯͔͊̓̾̾͊͘ḯ̴̤̬̖̪̙̣̑͐̕͜͠ẹ̵̞̮͗̇͗́w̴̤̣̞͊ ̸̢̒͂b̸̺̳̣̣̭̭̚͜l̷̛̹̽̓͝i̴̭̫͔̝̖͈̒͝s̴͖̣̳̝͕̎̍̿̀͝s̸̱̦̜͉͓̍͐̿f̷̥̄̆͆̐̆̓͋ų̵̭̠̰̙͉̹̂̀͗́̍̌l̷̫̣̱͛̄̚n̸̼͕̫͎̖̯̄̂ë̵͙́̉̀͋̈͛ś̴̟̺̘͜ş̵͔͕͖̈́͜.̶̩̝́́̂́̏ ̸̢̠̦͕̈̐̚F̴͈͉̱̲̹͈͕̆ä̸̛̮̯̺͈̬̭̻̒̀̍͆̔ļ̷͓͓͉̝̐̓l̷̡͇̟͇̗̹͓̽ ̶̪̻̝͔̬͎͖̏̓͛̋f̵̧̪̙̠͋̿̓̉͗̎͠ȏ̴̻̤̹͕͍͜r̶̮̦͌ē̵̡̂̒̔̏͝v̷͈̹̉e̷̦̹̥̟̭͕̿̄̒̍̚̚r̵͓͇͚̜̈͋̉̏̓̕͘͜ ̸̨̠̮̥͇̰̋̇̽͝ṫ̸̛̙ơ̷̢̢̜̻̗̱͑͂̌̃͜ ̷̜̒̑̅̈̅͝š̶̨̢̟̼̜̹̌̂͐l̴̥̪͌̎͜ë̴͙̜́̎ͅę̷̼͙͉̓p̸̞̖̦͝,̴̞̯͇͐͂͒̿̆͜͝ ̶̡͕̦̭͓͓͘ǫ̴̧̞̹̱̱̾̒̈́̉̀n̸̛͉̻̝̺̱̖̄̈l̶̖̞̣̰̙̩̋͌̔y̶̟͇͕͂͌͗̄̿̈́̏ ̴̛̜̘̝̪̏̇̑̈́͋͜ẗ̷̙́̅͗̓ö̶͕̫̠́̾́ ̴̛̺̈́a̸̫͕̪͊͒͆̿́̊͠w̸̯̦̘͂ă̵̰̼͕̬͉͆̉k̵͓̀̈́̓͐ě̴͇̝̣n̵̫͚͕̫̰̈́̑͆ ̷̨̧̪͎̞͈̃̓͆̾ͅh̸̡͓̹̦́͗́̾͘͘̕͜ͅo̵̹̐̐̅́͒́ḽ̶͑ĺ̴͎̬̐̃̈́o̷͎̤͓͉̖͐̃́̄̅̊̕͜w̴̢̲͈̬͍͓̲͐̈̅͗̒̿̌.̵̱̺̹̝̖̽̇͋̿̽̏̀ ̷̪͔̓̈̒̚͜S̷͚͍̰̋ú̵̫͚́̏̈́͛͠͠c̶̬̺̔h̶̥̺̻̱̽̆̽̋̅́ ̷̨̼̖̣̯̱̐̂i̵̹͖̟͖̮̇̆s̵̥̺͒̒̑̒̔͘ ̷̫̥̳̥̔̀̈́̓ț̵̆̚h̸̬̹̤̝̘̿ę̷̬̻̍ ̷̧̥͈̄̓̆̑̎c̸̛̹͇̪̩̣̪̒̇̿͗͜u̵̫̱̼̦̾̀̈̈́͐̂̂r̴̭̃͋̈̎̀̉͜s̵̨̨͈͚̀̈̊͠ę̴̗͚͎̖̞͌̆̂̇͌͝ ̷̦͎̰̭̯̲̿ͅǒ̴̪͇͙̈̊f̴̹̰̪͍̞̅͜ͅ ̶̜̗̘̫̲́͒̿͘͝t̸̜̩̗̪̟̫̆͆h̸͇̼̻͔̙̼̽̀e̸̩̙̲͕̯̐̏̈́ ̸̦̮̦͘õ̵̗̉̌͑̓̕͠n̷̡̐̈́̄e̵̹͚̦̟̓̀̍̔̈́̄ ̶̟͓͕̀̉͝ẁ̵͕̂͌͐i̷̢̯͔̖̙̅̂̎͜ṱ̴͆̈́͛̅h̷̢̨̭̫̺̰͓̑̍͊̑̔ ̸̢̥͇̓̔̊͗p̴͍̤̄̚͝ͅở̷͔̺̖̜̭͖͂̓͗͜w̷̖̭͕͈̃͆̈́͆ę̷̢̼̟͚̰̏r̸̢͖̫̻̼͋̿͌̾͆ ̷̩̬͓͆̒͛̾a̸̞͇͖̙̟̅͆̀̋̆̆͝ǹ̴̗͙̆̒̾͒͛̕d̴̦̫̥̈́͆ ̶̻̌̓́̈̕ẁ̷̧̪̮̟̽͜i̶̩͇̙̋̌̽͜ͅl̵̩̲̟̠̯͌̅ͅĺ̷̥́͗ ̴̱͑̏͋͊̚ṫ̵̥̺̈́͛̎́ō̷͈̙ ̸͇͈͑s̴̭̘͂̽̈́̿̑͝ḷ̶̤̣̀̕a̸̢̫̖̱͊̔y̴̪̦͕͆ ̸͔̹̪͊̽̕Ġ̴̗̝͓̹̪̼̄̌͆͗̂ö̵͓̳̳̏͋̏͝͠ḍ̴̹̀s̶͈̬̠̱̞̋H̶̢̲̙͖͎͔͚̿̀̿̽͝o̶̮͉̖̜͕̟̾w̴̱͓̠̬̄̚ ̵̤͎̜̄̅d̵̲͓̝̜͎̺̏̋̌͜a̴͙͖̺͎̅̈́̍̈r̴̮̻̙̱̠͌͆̈e̵̥̼͖͙̱̊ ̴̧̦̪͚̪̩̍̈́̉y̸̙̮̔̈́̆̆̿̂́ơ̶̘̮̜͇̟̼͜ǔ̶̧̺̖̙ ̴͚̤̀̄p̴̩͇͔̦̈́r̶̡͕͆̾̆̿̏́̓è̶̯͚͔͑͂͑t̸̡̻̭̃͝e̵̼̊̄̓ñ̶̡̢̦̬̰̎͜ḋ̷̳͕̙̫̻̉̋̈ ̴͙͎̥̳̹̤̰̑͗t̶̰̭̤̺͐͑̾͐͝͠͠ö̷̩̺̩̯̳́̆̈́͜ ̸̗̗̟̀c̶̢͕̮̥̗̰͆a̴̛̖͙͎͐̔͂͛̚r̶̝̱̬̲͍͇͒̿ë̶̻̲̲̆̈́̓̑ ̵̖̻̰͊̎́͒͌w̵̢̳̺̒͗̅̒i̸̢͕̯͑̐͆͗͜͜t̴̜͎̭̽̍͆̓͘͘͠ͅḧ̴̜̹̳̈́̈́̒̕ ̸͖̏̇̎̈͝t̵͖̖̞͑͂̍̕͜ḧ̶̡̖͍̦͚̰͈́͛̒̌e̴̙̩̪̥͇͈͕͊ ̷̰̏̽̓̓̓w̵͍̦̤͖̔̒̌̉͘͠e̵̻̗͙̘̖̍͜͝i̶̡̧̳̥͇͎͜͝g̷̻̜͖̜̏͂̀̂̈́h̵͚̤͒́̾̄̊̆t̴͇̼́̽̈́̚͝͠ ̷̺̳̤͙̝̉o̵͎̣̺͍͇̻̠͆̂f̵̣̤͙̩͍̲̻̒͝ ̶͕̱̜̓͌͋̿̉͠m̷̲̺̲̫̳̘̈̉͠ǫ̶̛͈̰̲̞̰͖̑́ù̸̠͙̬̿͘n̸̳̟̰̓͊̀̿͌̕t̴̛̠͔̻̩̹̊͐̄ḁ̵̢̣̖̽̌̓͑́͜͠i̸̜̞͌͛̒͂̎́͠n̶͎̺̾s̷͙̈́́̓͒ ̸̛̬͔͍̅͜ó̴͈̳͚̤̎̃̀̄ͅn̵̮̖̜͂ ̵̢̠̭̈́̍y̶̢̛̪̭̗͙̐̋o̸̧̎̐̓̐ư̵̧̺̳̣̪̬͌̃̐̆̚͝r̸͙͊̈́̄ ̸̨̧̘̜̠̂͜s̶̻̤̍͐͊͝ǫ̷͚͙̟͉͑̆̈́u̵̺̖̿͒̌l̸̰̠͎͕͔͐̅̑.̵̮̤̘̯̹̑̀̅̒ͅ ̶̢̲͑̈͘͘͠ͅŃ̸̢͍̭̆͜͠í̵͖̫̗͍̱͚̻̀͋̊͝ẗ̸̳̭̼̜̑͊ö̸̫̻̍ ̴̩̗͎͂͗̄̂̉̐h̶̙͒͝ả̶̼̟̙͈̺̬̗͐̐̂̅̍́d̶̢̛͔̖̽̚ ̶̲̮̠͛̄̔̚n̸͓̙̪̭͛̋̉͆͝ö̴͖̫̜̦̪̤́̿̈̽͘͜͝ť̶̠̿̈́ ̷̛̠̩̂̓̈́̑̔c̴̹̙̹̻͉̤̈́͆l̷̛͕͐͛̌̇a̷̺͖̩̓͗i̷̼̞̱̦̜͈̋̂͐͊͂̏m̷̬͓̘͗̐́̚ẹ̴̡̱̥͉̻̦́̿̆̄̂͒̀d̶̘̝̙̟̺̝͋ ̷̨͇̪̆̔̆̃̈́̀å̴͖̟͍̟̬͈͑̂s̷̹͋̋̈́͋͒̒͘ ̷̯͊̔̓̑͆̏̈́m̶̗̰̰̀͗̒͊̏̏͠ã̷͚̋̒͆͒̋ṉ̷̨͍̺̩͎̱͊̔̏̄̊ỵ̵̜̹̰̠͖̽̀̇̂͗ ̸̺̙̮̌̂͐͜á̶̡̬͔̺̀̓ͅͅs̶̡̛͓͇̍̆͝͝ ̴͈͖̞͖̹̀̿͂̀̕̚̕ͅẏ̷̧̛̀̚͝ö̴͈́̀ư̶̞̳̋̎́͝͝ͅ,̷̫̰̳͆̏̌̅͛̔͝ ̴̡̰̩̳̞̲̃͌̃̈͝n̵̳͖̜͂̈́̽̑̇͜͠o̸͓̭͓̊͊r̸͙͍̰̲͓͑̕͝ ̴̨̳̻̣̝̤̏̎ẖ̸̆ḁ̷̛̫͂̿͒̀̉͠ş̶͇̻̹̟͑́͘̚ ̷̣̟̲̏̄̓̿̽̋̈G̶̲̙̟̓̚w̷̦̹̼͍͔̓̿̅̓͐͋̚y̸̳̬͇̮͑͂̀̊̀͊̄n̸͍̜͕̽̈̓͋̅͊̚͜.̷̞͇̖̥̬̹̯̏ ̶̨̛͈̔̽̅͑Y̷͚͐͆͂͌͆̾o̶̹̫̔̃̊̍͛̂u̵͇̬̒ ̴̥̮̠̪̳̍̒͘̚͝a̵̛̗͊̐͆l̶̲̙̺̼̍̓͌̿̎̔̈o̷̻̳̳̺͠ń̸̼̼̪̯̥̯̆̒̕ḛ̴̢͖͈͉͈̺͒̏͂̔̚ ̶̝́͂̈͠͝a̶̖̮̩̗͖̹͊͂̽r̴̜͈͍͈̈̓͆͘ͅê̶̼͕̜̥̺̬̏ ̷̼̬̪̻̜̀̈̌̅̆̈̕t̶̖̪̹̉̆h̷̻̰̠̽e̷̲̿̾͂̊̕͘̕ ̶͖̤̫̫̩̀͂̐͘ȩ̵͖̦̓̕n̷͔̙̖͋̆̏́̂̀͘͜ḑ̵̠̱̖̎͛͝ ̶̧͖̤̻̻͂͛̃̐͗ȯ̴͚́̅f̵͍̖̥̓̿͒̓͝ ̶̩͒̓͘͠ā̷̱̰͕̫͙̐̈̚͘͝ḷ̵̨͇̳̙͛̂̐ͅl̶̬̺̭͑̈́͋̐͝,̸̡̱̝̪̹̖̋̐͂̓̽͌̔ͅ ̶̮̮̼̍ų̷̘̙̹͔̆̈́̕n̶͉̓͝d̸̹̜̍̽̈́̍͑͠ȩ̶͖͙̣̺͙̎͒̉̚s̶̥̮̻̻̯̱̋̐̉̕͝ȩ̸͉̲̀͊͠r̶͔̩̀ͅv̵̳͖̩̖̇̓̑͌̈́̊ī̷̱̳̜̜̕ṇ̷̡̛̅̈́͂̎͝g̸̳͕̦̬̒̚ ̵̢̯͇͊͑͒́o̶̙̤̔͊f̸͙̗̫̓̔̋̕ ̸̡̤̪̥̖͉̘̀̽̍̓p̷͙͙͙̾̌ͅŗ̸̯̰̱͂̈́̎à̷̺̦̻̺̼̣̘͊ĩ̶̻̱̃͐s̶̩̀͗͋͝e̶̛͔̱͗͌ ̸͙̘̹͌͝ö̴̻͕͍̯̼̰́̋̾̑̌̄ṙ̸͎̻͈̹͚̙ ̶̬̳̏̽̕c̵̛̊̓͜r̶̲͗̔͆̏̎̕͠ó̸̡̯̹̙͔̥̯w̴̘͖̻̥̖̒͒͒̋̈́͝n̴̝̖͈̹͛̕ ̶̗̣͔̤͇̩͋͐̎͐͂ỵ̷͗̈́̿̾͗ó̵̜̺̟̯̟͎̺̋ǔ̴̧̼͉̩̫̠̒ ̸̹̦̲͓̤͂͘͝m̸̟̗̰̓̄͆̚͝į̶͇͈̽͐̕n̸̰̭̝͍̋̒̑d̵͇͉̲͖̊͆̾͜l̸͔͇̜͗é̸̡̨̦̺̊s̷̩̬̤͕̯̪̉̄͛͘š̶̤̰̩̝̩̺͜l̸͎͙͗̑̀̃͜y̷͇̾̆̎͆̄̉͝ ̵̹̬͋̉̿̓̍̌p̸̛̫͇̓͋̅́́͠ù̶͇̣̤̪̓̏̚͜r̵͈͗̑̌̀͆̚͝ṣ̴̛͉͍͋̃̂̕u̷͔͍̦̍͛́̀̀̈͝ͅe̸̗̥̽͜fHUMANITYg̶͈̽̇̿̈́͝ư̵̥̱̐̂͘͜t̵̼͉̜͇͑̕l̸̖̘͓̖̦̙͑̇̚͠e̵̛̩͕͐s̴͕͙̼̪̦͚̳̾̓͒̅͊̀š̷̪͕͕̾̇̇͊͘ ̸̨̩̝̳̔̇ͅẗ̸̟̉̈́̀͋͌̚o̵̢̝͎͇̓́̈͜͠ͅ ̸̢̫͓̂̆̑͑͘̚͝c̸͎̟̱͇̅̈́̿̆̃͒l̶̩̼̟͊̅͋̔ͅá̸̢̢̛͍͈̰́ĩ̷̧̜͎̳̼̚͠m̷̨̖̰͆̆ ̵̨̩͔͖̞̘̩̅͘ê̵̗̗̟̻̥͙̅͋̍̅̀ḭ̴̼̖͍͓́͝t̴͖̤͔̫̪͉̣͋͐̑̌͌́h̸̬̰̺̭̰̿͑͊͝ę̵̱͔̟͇̻͍͂̄̑̕̚r̴͓̟̳̄̒͝,̵̨̯̹̼̮̤̌̊̓̃ ̶͉͖̤̉͐̒̃w̷͔̝̙͖̠̑̃̏o̷̩͎̍̅͋̿̚͝r̴͕̼̦̦̈́̽̎̋r̴͖̝͊͒̒͋͌ī̶̱̱̥͕̦̅̐͗̄è̴̹͓̟͝͝͠d̷̖̙̫̹̤̀ ̶̞̔̀̄͆ͅo̵̪͉̟̓̍f̶̤̭͒͌͜ ̷̧͚̻͖̚y̵̩͇̺̘͆̿ơ̴̧͈̥̬̽͒̈́̚ͅu̴̬͝r̸̡̡͉̻͙͉̂ ̵͈̆͘͝p̸̧̮̲̞͍̖͔͗̇ỉ̶̺̲͙̩̮̘̌̀́̄͋t̸̡̛̲͖͔̲͋̿͂̂̎͠ ̵̦̞̟̈͛̓͝d̷̳͇̝̜̺̪̈e̵̙̖̩̱͙̠̽ͅē̸̗̖p̶̪̱̂̑̀ ̸̻̲̭̞͖̠͔̒͝ẅ̴̧̛̯́̒̽̕̕ͅį̷̝̜̬͎̭͗t̵̟̤͊͐͒͂̕̚h̵̝̟̮̲͐̌i̸̠͚̍͠n̶̘̖̟̻̗̪̏ ̴̱̿t̵͍̼̭̀h̶͚̠͍̥̩̫̺̑̋̄̀̇͛ḙ̴̡͉̲̭̻̿͐̎̊̐̈́ ̶̳̲́̈́̓͠͝ḩ̴͉̋̌̊͜ę̷̖͍͕̆́̓̑̕ͅá̵͍r̵̡̖̥̐̀̅ṯ̴̑ ̸͔̆͗͗̇̓͒̚s̷̯͖̍̓̿̐̉̚o̵͍̿ ̵̧̧̣͇̗̔̈̚̚c̴̹͖̳̘̀̆́̎͆̀̕ȑ̶̢͖̀̍̋͗̄ǘ̶̢̥͔͇̣̫̒̈̋͋̔ͅd̶̲́̌͒̄̎͗̊ȅ̶͓̺̟͎̼͊̏͐ḷ̸̨̬̜͎̼́ͅŷ̴͕̜͙͇̋̊̎̊͛ ̴̞̙̪̙͖̜̀t̴̡̨̨̟̪̭͌o̸̮͉̠̒̈́͋̆̓̋r̷̡͌n̸̡̮͍͆̓͛.̸̨̨̪̻͛͋͒̄ ̸̧̣̣̬̳̈́̎C̸̹̫̥͐̏̓͐̋̚͝ȗ̵͚̤̯͍̖͙̒̎͗̽̕͝ŗ̶̻͍̳̖̜̓͝s̴̡̛̭̠͍̠͕̕ě̸̪̺͖̊͐͐ͅḑ̸̜͈͍̙̎̔͗ ̷̪͓̬͍̍̉͘͘b̷̢͓͙͙̲̮̔̅̈́̐̐ȩ̷͓͎̭͔̲̿͒̆̀̀͜͝ỉ̷̯͕͙̥̬̆̊̐͑n̸̹͈̻̿̍̚ͅg̷̭͓̘̀̓͊̽̄s̸̢͈̳̼̐́ ̷̯͔̥̦̞͕̌͘ẅ̴̡̢͓̳͚͈̤́̏h̸̢̩̺̤̞̺̜̀ờ̶̝́̆̒̓̚s̸̡͈͔̼̠̊ẹ̷̀̏͗̄̋̈ ̷̹͓̒͋̆s̷̡͕̘̺̱̲̰̈̈̃̆̌t̷̼̖̮͂ę̵̅̈́͝͝͝p̴̛͍̩̟̙͎͌̓̈̿͗̚͜s̵̳̩͐̍̔̒̀͝ ̵̼͇̥̈́ȩ̴̜͎͉͔̤̋̅c̴̢̛̱̟̠̝̭͊͂͗̋h̸͕̮͍̩͓͛̽̎͆̅̌o̶̡̳̤̮͗̍ ̸̧̼̺͆͐̇ţ̴͙̗̮͖̩̦͛̋̈ḩ̶͖͔̜̲͓̎͊͋̐̄͠͝ĕ̵̩̲̄̀̄͂͘ ̵̉̓̔̂͜c̶̛̙̼̠͊̈̕̕o̴̡̺̿m̷̛̤͛͒͠i̸̯̤̝͊͐̇̃͠n̷͍̥̘͔͙̠̦̓g̶̤͔͚̰̻̊͌͌͐́̕ ̷͇̟́̈̉͐͋͠ď̸̨͉̘̅̀͌̐̕e̷̢̫̱̱̍͝͝a̴̧̡͙̺͒̐t̷̪̦̟͖͖͊͜h̴̨̦̠͕̰̰̾̓͘̕̕,̶̭̿͋̽̏̍̌̀ ̵̪̞̫͆̈̉w̷̱̘͈̫̿ͅh̵̫͋o̷͓̰̪͖̭͔̖͆̀̉͆̈̋s̶̛̠̼͉̾͌̑͠ę̶̡̥̺̙̩̽̊ ̴̢͕̜̫͕̣̗̓̔́̓͂̃͝g̵͖̞͖̈́̐̕o̷̗̅̎̀͐̋̚ȁ̵̗̜̯̲͔̣̎̈́̽̾͝l̶̲͖̍̂͘ ̴̨̝̰̫͎̼̮̍͂͛s̵̪̭̞̗͉̔̂́̈̀ͅţ̴̭͈͓̬͕̻̿̃̎͊͌̕̕ë̸̢͈͚͇̈̒ě̵̖̣̞̫͕̲̪͌̈́͑̓̒͆p̵̠̲͑̅̀͜͜͠ȩ̴̛̙̜͊̂̚d̶̺̮̣̱͛̕ ̶͖͖̦̒̕͠i̵͇̗̘͖̟̓̾̔n̶̩̗͚̦͍͕͒̆̒́̌ ̷̧̱͇̱̤̋̉̔̽̕b̴̮̗͉̜͉̉͒͒̾̈e̶̳̼͚͍̞͜͝ẗ̶̡̪̠̻̪͚̍̀̀͐r̶̫̐̋a̷̛̼͍͕̬̎̽̊͒̋ͅÿ̵͙̺͍̭̝́̎̇͗â̸͍̮͚̥l̷̡̙̤̲̎̆̂̈́͌ ̸̨̞͔̪̯̠͑̂̑͒̈́̊ä̷͓̰̺̖͇͎͊̇͐͊͌͝ṋ̶̡̮̀͜d̵̦͍̓̌̾̾̀͗ ̷̠̘̳̮̭̊̆̊̐͛̌̂s̶̡̠͓̩͋̚͘u̴͙͉͖̤͒f̶͕̺͖̲̯̈̔́̓̚͝f̷͇̼͚͚͕̉̀̀͌́͘͠ę̸͂̆̒͑̓̽͘ŗ̸̪̙̬͕̟͉̈́̾̏ȉ̵̫̯̔ṉ̴̺̄̑̕g̸̞̹͈̍͒̏̌͒̄̚ ̴͓̫̖͕̞̓͛̑͜ḧ̷̲͖̺̀̂͆͂o̴̘͔̫͙̹͆ẇ̵̬̺̰͉͉͎̦̄̇ ̸̛̼̤̞͉͘d̸͈̫͊̇͐͋̓̏̕ǎ̶̞̞̜͕̒̓̍̉r̶̰̣̙̗̲͉͒͛̒͊͆̕e̸̡̗̼̩̩̊ͅ ̷͇̇̊ÿ̴̡̧̫̳̙̜̺́̋͛̓̀͠o̴̳̦͉̊͒͋͘u̸̳̗̎͋̽́͒͂̕ ̵̧̨̤̰̘̀v̷͚͔̯͔͊̓̾̾͊͘ḯ̴̤̬̖̪̙̣̑͐̕͜͠ẹ̵̞̮͗̇͗́w̴̤̣̞͊ ̸̢̒͂b̸̺̳̣̣̭̭̚͜l̷̛̹̽̓͝i̴̭̫͔̝̖͈̒͝s̴͖̣̳̝͕̎̍̿̀͝s̸̱̦̜͉͓̍͐̿f̷̥̄̆͆̐̆̓͋ų̵̭̠̰̙͉̹̂̀͗́̍̌l̷̫̣̱͛̄̚n̸̼͕̫͎̖̯̄̂ë̵͙́̉̀͋̈͛ś̴̟̺̘͜ş̵͔͕͖̈́͜.̶̩̝́́̂́̏ ̸̢̠̦͕̈̐̚F̴͈͉̱̲̹͈͕̆ä̸̛̮̯̺͈̬̭̻̒̀̍͆̔ļ̷͓͓͉̝̐̓l̷̡͇̟͇̗̹͓̽ ̶̪̻̝͔̬͎͖̏̓͛̋f̵̧̪̙̠͋̿̓̉͗̎͠ȏ̴̻̤̹͕͍͜r̶̮̦͌ē̵̡̂̒̔̏͝v̷͈̹̉e̷̦̹̥̟̭͕̿̄̒̍̚̚r̵͓͇͚̜̈͋̉̏̓̕͘͜ ̸̨̠̮̥͇̰̋̇̽͝ṫ̸̛̙ơ̷̢̢̜̻̗̱͑͂̌̃͜ ̷̜̒̑̅̈̅͝š̶̨̢̟̼̜̹̌̂͐l̴̥̪͌̎͜ë̴͙̜́̎ͅę̷̼͙͉̓p̸̞̖̦͝,̴̞̯͇͐͂͒̿̆͜͝ ̶̡͕̦̭͓͓͘ǫ̴̧̞̹̱̱̾̒̈́̉̀n̸̛͉̻̝̺̱̖̄̈l̶̖̞̣̰̙̩̋͌̔y̶̟͇͕͂͌͗̄̿̈́̏ ̴̛̜̘̝̪̏̇̑̈́͋͜ẗ̷̙́̅͗̓ö̶͕̫̠́̾́ ̴̛̺̈́a̸̫͕̪͊͒͆̿́̊͠w̸̯̦̘͂ă̵̰̼͕̬͉͆̉k̵͓̀̈́̓͐ě̴͇̝̣n̵̫͚͕̫̰̈́̑͆ ̷̨̧̪͎̞͈̃̓͆̾ͅh̸̡͓̹̦́͗́̾͘͘̕͜ͅo̵̹̐̐̅́͒́ḽ̶͑ĺ̴͎̬̐̃̈́o̷͎̤͓͉̖͐̃́̄̅̊̕͜w̴̢̲͈̬͍͓̲͐̈̅͗̒̿̌.̵̱̺̹̝̖̽̇͋̿̽̏̀ ̷̪͔̓̈̒̚͜S̷͚͍̰̋ú̵̫͚́̏̈́͛͠͠c̶̬̺̔h̶̥̺̻̱̽̆̽̋̅́ ̷̨̼̖̣̯̱̐̂i̵̹͖̟͖̮̇̆s̵̥̺͒̒̑̒̔͘ ̷̫̥̳̥̔̀̈́̓ț̵̆̚h̸̬̹̤̝̘̿ę̷̬̻̍ ̷̧̥͈̄̓̆̑̎c̸̛̹͇̪̩̣̪̒̇̿͗͜u̵̫̱̼̦̾̀̈̈́͐̂̂r̴̭̃͋̈̎̀̉͜s̵̨̨͈͚̀̈̊͠ę̴̗͚͎̖̞͌̆̂̇͌͝ ̷̦͎̰̭̯̲̿ͅǒ̴̪͇͙̈̊f̴̹̰̪͍̞̅͜ͅ ̶̜̗̘̫̲́͒̿͘͝t̸̜̩̗̪̟̫̆͆h̸͇̼̻͔̙̼̽̀e̸̩̙̲͕̯̐̏̈́ ̸̦̮̦͘õ̵̗̉̌͑̓̕͠n̷̡̐̈́̄e̵̹͚̦̟̓̀̍̔̈́̄ ̶̟͓͕̀̉͝ẁ̵͕̂͌͐i̷̢̯͔̖̙̅̂̎͜ṱ̴͆̈́͛̅h̷̢̨̭̫̺̰͓̑̍͊̑̔ ̸̢̥͇̓̔̊͗p̴͍̤̄̚͝ͅở̷͔̺̖̜̭͖͂̓͗͜w̷̖̭͕͈̃͆̈́͆ę̷̢̼̟͚̰̏r̸̢͖̫̻̼͋̿͌̾͆ ̷̩̬͓͆̒͛̾a̸̞͇͖̙̟̅͆̀̋̆̆͝ǹ̴̗͙̆̒̾͒͛̕d̴̦̫̥̈́͆ ̶̻̌̓́̈̕ẁ̷̧̪̮̟̽͜i̶̩͇̙̋̌̽͜ͅl̵̩̲̟̠̯͌̅ͅĺ̷̥́͗ ̴̱͑̏͋͊̚ṫ̵̥̺̈́͛̎́ō̷͈̙ ̸͇͈͑s̴̭̘͂̽̈́̿̑͝ḷ̶̤̣̀̕a̸̢̫̖̱͊̔y̴̪̦͕͆ ̸͔̹̪͊̽̕Ġ̴̗̝͓̹̪̼̄̌͆͗̂ö̵͓̳̳̏͋̏͝͠ḍ̴̹̀s̶͈̬̠̱̞̋H̶̢̲̙͖͎͔͚̿̀̿̽͝o̶̮͉̖̜͕̟̾w̴̱͓̠̬̄̚ ̵̤͎̜̄̅d̵̲͓̝̜͎̺̏̋̌͜a̴͙͖̺͎̅̈́̍̈r̴̮̻̙̱̠͌͆̈e̵̥̼͖͙̱̊ ̴̧̦̪͚̪̩̍̈́̉y̸̙̮̔̈́̆̆̿̂́ơ̶̘̮̜͇̟̼͜ǔ̶̧̺̖̙ ̴͚̤̀̄p̴̩͇͔̦̈́r̶̡͕͆̾̆̿̏́̓è̶̯͚͔͑͂͑t̸̡̻̭̃͝e̵̼̊̄̓ñ̶̡̢̦̬̰̎͜ḋ̷̳͕̙̫̻̉̋̈ ̴͙͎̥̳̹̤̰̑͗t̶̰̭̤̺͐͑̾͐͝͠͠ö̷̩̺̩̯̳́̆̈́͜ ̸̗̗̟̀c̶̢͕̮̥̗̰͆a̴̛̖͙͎͐̔͂͛̚r̶̝̱̬̲͍͇͒̿ë̶̻̲̲̆̈́̓̑ ̵̖̻̰͊̎́͒͌w̵̢̳̺̒͗̅̒i̸̢͕̯͑̐͆͗͜͜t̴̜͎̭̽̍͆̓͘͘͠ͅḧ̴̜̹̳̈́̈́̒̕ ̸͖̏̇̎̈͝t̵͖̖̞͑͂̍̕͜ḧ̶̡̖͍̦͚̰͈́͛̒̌e̴̙̩̪̥͇͈͕͊ ̷̰̏̽̓̓̓w̵͍̦̤͖̔̒̌̉͘͠e̵̻̗͙̘̖̍͜͝i̶̡̧̳̥͇͎͜͝g̷̻̜͖̜̏͂̀̂̈́h̵͚̤͒́̾̄̊̆t̴͇̼́̽̈́̚͝͠ ̷̺̳̤͙̝̉o̵͎̣̺͍͇̻̠͆̂f̵̣̤͙̩͍̲̻̒͝ ̶͕̱̜̓͌͋̿̉͠m̷̲̺̲̫̳̘̈̉͠ǫ̶̛͈̰̲̞̰͖̑́ù̸̠͙̬̿͘n̸̳̟̰̓͊̀̿͌̕t̴̛̠͔̻̩̹̊͐̄ḁ̵̢̣̖̽̌̓͑́͜͠i̸̜̞͌͛̒͂̎́͠n̶͎̺̾s̷͙̈́́̓͒ ̸̛̬͔͍̅͜ó̴͈̳͚̤̎̃̀̄ͅn̵̮̖̜͂ ̵̢̠̭̈́̍y̶̢̛̪̭̗͙̐̋o̸̧̎̐̓̐ư̵̧̺̳̣̪̬͌̃̐̆̚͝r̸͙͊̈́̄ ̸̨̧̘̜̠̂͜s̶̻̤̍͐͊͝ǫ̷͚͙̟͉͑̆̈́u̵̺̖̿͒̌l̸̰̠͎͕͔͐̅̑.̵̮̤̘̯̹̑̀̅̒ͅ ̶̢̲͑̈͘͘͠ͅŃ̸̢͍̭̆͜͠í̵͖̫̗͍̱͚̻̀͋̊͝ẗ̸̳̭̼̜̑͊ö̸̫̻̍ ̴̩̗͎͂͗̄̂̉̐h̶̙͒͝ả̶̼̟̙͈̺̬̗͐̐̂̅̍́d̶̢̛͔̖̽̚ ̶̲̮̠͛̄̔̚n̸͓̙̪̭͛̋̉͆͝ö̴͖̫̜̦̪̤́̿̈̽͘͜͝ť̶̠̿̈́ ̷̛̠̩̂̓̈́̑̔c̴̹̙̹̻͉̤̈́͆l̷̛͕͐͛̌̇a̷̺͖̩̓͗i̷̼̞̱̦̜͈̋̂͐͊͂̏m̷̬͓̘͗̐́̚ẹ̴̡̱̥͉̻̦́̿̆̄̂͒̀d̶̘̝̙̟̺̝͋ ̷̨͇̪̆̔̆̃̈́̀å̴͖̟͍̟̬͈͑̂s̷̹͋̋̈́͋͒̒͘ ̷̯͊̔̓̑͆̏̈́m̶̗̰̰̀͗̒͊̏̏͠ã̷͚̋̒͆͒̋ṉ̷̨͍̺̩͎̱͊̔̏̄̊ỵ̵̜̹̰̠͖̽̀̇̂͗ ̸̺̙̮̌̂͐͜á̶̡̬͔̺̀̓ͅͅs̶̡̛͓͇̍̆͝͝ ̴͈͖̞͖̹̀̿͂̀̕̚̕ͅẏ̷̧̛̀̚͝ö̴͈́̀ư̶̞̳̋̎́͝͝ͅ,̷̫̰̳͆̏̌̅͛̔͝ ̴̡̰̩̳̞̲̃͌̃̈͝n̵̳͖̜͂̈́̽̑̇͜͠o̸͓̭͓̊͊r̸͙͍̰̲͓͑̕͝ ̴̨̳̻̣̝̤̏̎ẖ̸̆ḁ̷̛̫͂̿͒̀̉͠ş̶͇̻̹̟͑́͘̚ ̷̣̟̲̏̄̓̿̽̋̈G̶̲̙̟̓̚w̷̦̹̼͍͔̓̿̅̓͐͋̚y̸̳̬͇̮͑͂̀̊̀͊̄n̸͍̜͕̽̈̓͋̅͊̚͜.̷̞͇̖̥̬̹̯̏ ̶̨̛͈̔̽̅͑Y̷͚͐͆͂͌͆̾o̶̹̫̔̃̊̍͛̂u̵͇̬̒ ̴̥̮̠̪̳̍̒͘̚͝a̵̛̗͊̐͆l̶̲̙̺̼̍̓͌̿̎̔̈o̷̻̳̳̺͠ń̸̼̼̪̯̥̯̆̒̕ḛ̴̢͖͈͉͈̺͒̏͂̔̚ ̶̝́͂̈͠͝a̶̖̮̩̗͖̹͊͂̽r̴̜͈͍͈̈̓͆͘ͅê̶̼͕̜̥̺̬̏ ̷̼̬̪̻̜̀̈̌̅̆̈̕t̶̖̪̹̉̆h̷̻̰̠̽e̷̲̿̾͂̊̕͘̕ ̶͖̤̫̫̩̀͂̐͘ȩ̵͖̦̓̕n̷͔̙̖͋̆̏́̂̀͘͜ḑ̵̠̱̖̎͛͝ ̶̧͖̤̻̻͂͛̃̐͗ȯ̴͚́̅f̵͍̖̥̓̿͒̓͝ ̶̩͒̓͘͠ā̷̱̰͕̫͙̐̈̚͘͝ḷ̵̨͇̳̙͛̂̐ͅl̶̬̺̭͑̈́͋̐͝,̸̡̱̝̪̹̖̋̐͂̓̽͌̔ͅ ̶̮̮̼̍ų̷̘̙̹͔̆̈́̕n̶͉̓͝d̸̹̜̍̽̈́̍͑͠ȩ̶͖͙̣̺͙̎͒̉̚s̶̥̮̻̻̯̱̋̐̉̕͝ȩ̸͉̲̀͊͠r̶͔̩̀ͅv̵̳͖̩̖̇̓̑͌̈́̊ī̷̱̳̜̜̕ṇ̷̡̛̅̈́͂̎͝g̸̳͕̦̬̒̚ ̵̢̯͇͊͑͒́o̶̙̤̔͊f̸͙̗̫̓̔̋̕ ̸̡̤̪̥̖͉̘̀̽̍̓p̷͙͙͙̾̌ͅŗ̸̯̰̱͂̈́̎à̷̺̦̻̺̼̣̘͊ĩ̶̻̱̃͐s̶̩̀͗͋͝e̶̛͔̱͗͌ ̸͙̘̹͌͝ö̴̻͕͍̯̼̰́̋̾̑̌̄ṙ̸͎̻͈̹͚̙ ̶̬̳̏̽̕c̵̛̊̓͜r̶̲͗̔͆̏̎̕͠ó̸̡̯̹̙͔̥̯w̴̘͖̻̥̖̒͒͒̋̈́͝n̴̝̖͈̹͛̕ ̶̗̣͔̤͇̩͋͐̎͐͂ỵ̷͗̈́̿̾͗ó̵̜̺̟̯̟͎̺̋ǔ̴̧̼͉̩̫̠̒ ̸̹̦̲͓̤͂͘͝m̸̟̗̰̓̄͆̚͝į̶͇͈̽͐̕n̸̰̭̝͍̋̒̑d̵͇͉̲͖̊͆̾͜l̸͔͇̜͗é̸̡̨̦̺̊s̷̩̬̤͕̯̪̉̄͛͘š̶̤̰̩̝̩̺͜l̸͎͙͗̑̀̃͜y̷͇̾̆̎͆̄̉͝ ̵̹̬͋̉̿̓̍̌p̸̛̫͇̓͋̅́́͠ù̶͇̣̤̪̓̏̚͜r̵͈͗̑̌̀͆̚͝ṣ̴̛͉͍͋̃̂̕u̷͔͍̦̍͛́̀̀̈͝ͅe̸̗̥̽͜d̵̛͍̮̭͇͇͑̐̀̾͗̚.̶͕̟̿̚ ̸̝̃͑͝F̷̛̳̥͕͉̰̲̪̅ă̵̠̫̬̼͋r̷̠̈̈́̃̉͠͠ ̶͇̙̬̦̜̥̫̽̋̒̎t̸͈̫̻́͋͆̿̿̉͝ó̶̭͚͛̒̉ȍ̵̢̹͔̼̰͙̫̑̌̃̚ ̸̰͌̿̈̈͐g̶͈̽̇̿̈́͝ư̵̥̱̐̂͘͜t̵̼͉̜͇͑̕l̸̖̘͓̖̦̙͑̇̚͠e̵̛̩͕͐s̴͕͙̼̪̦͚̳̾̓͒̅͊̀š̷̪͕͕̾̇̇͊͘ ̸̨̩̝̳̔̇ͅẗ̸̟̉̈́̀͋͌̚o̵̢̝͎͇̓́̈͜͠ͅ ̸̢̫͓̂̆̑͑͘̚͝c̸͎̟̱͇̅̈́̿̆̃͒l̶̩̼̟͊̅͋̔ͅá̸̢̢̛͍͈̰́ĩ̷̧̜͎̳̼̚͠m̷̨̖̰͆̆ ̵̨̩͔͖̞̘̩̅͘ê̵̗̗̟̻̥͙̅͋̍̅̀ḭ̴̼̖͍͓́͝t̴͖̤͔̫̪͉̣͋͐̑̌͌́h̸̬̰̺̭̰̿͑͊͝ę̵̱͔̟͇̻͍͂̄̑̕̚r̴͓̟̳̄̒͝,̵̨̯̹̼̮̤̌̊̓̃ ̶͉͖̤̉͐̒̃w̷͔̝̙͖̠̑̃̏o̷̩͎̍̅͋̿̚͝r̴͕̼̦̦̈́̽̎̋r̴͖̝͊͒̒͋͌ī̶̱̱̥͕̦̅̐͗̄è̴̹͓̟͝͝͠d̷̖̙̫̹̤̀ ̶̞̔̀̄͆ͅo̵̪͉̟̓̍f̶̤̭͒͌͜ ̷̧͚̻͖̚y̵̩͇̺̘͆̿ơ̴̧͈̥̬̽͒̈́̚ͅu̴̬͝r̸̡̡͉̻͙͉̂ ̵͈̆͘͝p̸̧̮̲̞͍̖͔͗̇ỉ̶̺̲͙̩̮̘̌̀́̄͋t̸̡̛̲͖͔̲͋̿͂̂̎͠ ̵̦̞̟̈͛̓͝d̷̳͇̝̜̺̪̈e̵̙̖̩̱͙̠̽ͅē̸̗̖p̶̪̱̂̑̀ ̸̻̲̭̞͖̠͔̒͝ẅ̴̧̛̯́̒̽̕̕ͅį̷̝̜̬͎̭͗t̵̟̤͊͐͒͂̕̚h̵̝̟̮̲͐̌i̸̠͚̍͠n̶̘̖̟̻̗̪̏ ̴̱̿t̵͍̼̭̀h̶͚̠͍̥̩̫̺̑̋̄̀̇͛ḙ̴̡͉̲̭̻̿͐̎̊̐̈́ ̶̳̲́̈́̓͠͝ḩ̴͉̋̌̊͜ę̷̖͍͕̆́̓̑̕ͅá̵͍r̵̡̖̥̐̀̅ṯ̴̑ ̸͔̆͗͗̇̓͒̚s̷̯͖̍̓̿̐̉̚o̵͍̿ ̵̧̧̣͇̗̔̈̚̚c̴̹͖̳̘̀̆́̎͆̀̕ȑ̶̢͖̀̍̋͗̄ǘ̶̢̥͔͇̣̫̒̈̋͋̔ͅd̶̲́̌͒̄̎͗̊ȅ̶͓̺̟͎̼͊̏͐ḷ̸̨̬̜͎̼́ͅŷ̴͕̜͙͇̋̊̎̊͛ ̴̞̙̪̙͖̜̀t̴̡̨̨̟̪̭͌o̸̮͉̠̒̈́͋̆̓̋r̷̡͌n̸̡̮͍͆̓͛.̸̨̨̪̻͛͋͒̄ ̸̧̣̣̬̳̈́̎C̸̹̫̥͐̏̓͐̋̚͝ȗ̵͚̤̯͍̖͙̒̎͗̽̕͝ŗ̶̻͍̳̖̜̓͝s̴̡̛̭̠͍̠͕̕ě̸̪̺͖̊͐͐ͅḑ̸̜͈͍̙̎̔͗ ̷̪͓̬͍̍̉͘͘b̷̢͓͙͙̲̮̔̅̈́̐̐ȩ̷͓͎̭͔̲̿͒̆̀̀͜͝ỉ̷̯͕͙̥̬̆̊̐͑n̸̹͈̻̿̍̚ͅg̷̭͓̘̀̓͊̽̄s̸̢͈̳̼̐́ ̷̯͔̥̦̞͕̌͘ẅ̴̡̢͓̳͚͈̤́̏h̸̢̩̺̤̞̺̜̀ờ̶̝́̆̒̓̚s̸̡͈͔̼̠̊ẹ̷̀̏͗̄̋̈ ̷̹͓̒͋̆s̷̡͕̘̺̱̲̰̈̈̃̆̌t̷̼̖̮͂ę̵̅̈́͝͝͝p̴̛͍̩̟̙͎͌̓̈̿͗̚͜s̵̳̩͐̍̔̒̀͝ ̵̼͇̥̈́ȩ̴̜͎͉͔̤̋̅c̴̢̛̱̟̠̝̭͊͂͗̋h̸͕̮͍̩͓͛̽̎͆̅̌o̶̡̳̤̮͗̍ ̸̧̼̺͆͐̇ţ̴͙̗̮͖̩̦͛̋̈ḩ̶͖͔̜̲͓̎͊͋̐̄͠͝ĕ̵̩̲̄̀̄͂͘ ̵̉̓̔̂͜c̶̛̙̼̠͊̈̕̕o̴̡̺̿m̷̛̤͛͒͠i̸̯̤̝͊͐̇̃͠n̷͍̥̘͔͙̠̦̓g̶̤͔͚̰̻̊͌͌͐́̕ ̷͇̟́̈̉͐͋͠ď̸̨͉̘̅̀͌̐̕e̷̢̫̱̱̍͝͝a̴̧̡͙̺͒̐t̷̪̦̟͖͖͊͜h̴̨̦̠͕̰̰̾̓͘̕̕,̶̭̿͋̽̏̍̌̀ ̵̪̞̫͆̈̉w̷̱̘͈̫̿ͅh̵̫͋o̷͓̰̪͖̭͔̖͆̀̉͆̈̋s̶̛̠̼͉̾͌̑͠ę̶̡̥̺̙̩̽̊ ̴̢͕̜̫͕̣̗̓̔́̓͂̃͝g̵͖̞͖̈́̐̕o̷̗̅̎̀͐̋̚ȁ̵̗̜̯̲͔̣̎̈́̽̾͝l̶̲͖̍̂͘ ̴̨̝̰̫͎̼̮̍͂͛s̵̪̭̞̗͉̔̂́̈̀ͅţ̴̭͈͓̬͕̻̿̃̎͊͌̕̕ë̸̢͈͚͇̈̒ě̵̖̣̞̫͕̲̪͌̈́͑̓̒͆p̵̠̲͑̅̀͜͜͠ȩ̴̛̙̜͊̂̚d̶̺̮̣̱͛̕ ̶͖͖̦̒̕͠i̵͇̗̘͖̟̓̾̔n̶̩̗͚̦͍͕͒̆̒́̌ ̷̧̱͇̱̤̋̉̔̽̕b̴̮̗͉̜͉̉͒͒̾̈e̶̳̼͚͍̞͜͝ẗ̶̡̪̠̻̪͚̍̀̀͐r̶̫̐̋a̷̛̼͍͕̬̎̽̊͒̋ͅÿ̵͙̺͍̭̝́̎̇͗â̸͍̮͚̥l̷̡̙̤̲̎̆̂̈́͌ ̸̨̞͔̪̯̠͑̂̑͒̈́̊ä̷͓̰̺̖͇͎͊̇͐͊͌͝ṋ̶̡̮̀͜d̵̦͍̓̌̾̾̀͗ ̷̠̘̳̮̭̊̆̊̐͛̌̂s̶̡̠͓̩͋̚͘u̴͙͉͖̤͒f̶͕̺͖̲̯̈̔́̓̚͝f̷͇̼͚͚͕̉̀̀͌́͘͠ę̸͂̆̒͑̓̽͘ŗ̸̪̙̬͕̟͉̈́̾̏ȉ̵̫̯̔ṉ̴̺̄̑̕g̸̞̹͈̍͒̏̌͒̄̚ ̴͓̫̖͕̞̓͛̑͜ḧ̷̲͖̺̀̂͆͂o̴̘͔̫͙̹͆ẇ̵̬̺̰͉͉͎̦̄̇ ̸̛̼̤̞͉͘d̸͈̫͊̇͐͋̓̏̕ǎ̶̞̞̜͕̒̓̍̉r̶̰̣̙̗̲͉͒͛̒͊͆̕e̸̡̗̼̩̩̊ͅ ̷͇̇̊ÿ̴̡̧̫̳̙̜̺́̋͛̓̀͠o̴̳̦͉̊͒͋͘u̸̳̗̎͋̽́͒͂̕ ̵̧̨̤̰̘̀v̷͚͔̯͔͊̓̾̾͊͘ḯ̴̤̬̖̪̙̣̑͐̕͜͠ẹ̵̞̮͗̇͗́w̴̤̣̞͊ ̸̢̒͂b̸̺̳̣̣̭̭̚͜l̷̛̹̽̓͝i̴̭̫͔̝̖͈̒͝s̴͖̣̳̝͕̎̍̿̀͝s̸̱̦̜͉͓̍͐̿f̷̥̄̆͆̐̆̓͋ų̵̭̠̰̙͉̹̂̀͗́̍̌l̷̫̣̱͛̄̚n̸̼͕̫͎̖̯̄̂ë̵͙́̉̀͋̈͛ś̴̟̺̘͜ş̵͔͕͖̈́͜.̶̩̝́́̂́̏ ̸̢̠̦͕̈̐̚F̴͈͉̱̲̹͈͕̆ä̸̛̮̯̺͈̬̭̻̒̀̍͆̔ļ̷͓͓͉̝̐̓l̷̡͇̟͇̗̹͓̽ ̶̪̻̝͔̬͎͖̏̓͛̋f̵̧̪̙̠͋̿̓̉͗̎͠ȏ̴̻̤̹͕͍͜r̶̮̦͌ē̵̡̂̒̔̏͝v̷͈̹̉e̷̦̹̥̟̭͕̿̄̒̍̚̚r̵͓͇͚̜̈͋̉̏̓̕͘͜ ̸̨̠̮̥͇̰̋̇̽͝ṫ̸̛̙ơ̷̢̢̜̻̗̱͑͂̌̃͜ ̷̜̒̑̅̈̅͝š̶̨̢̟̼̜̹̌̂͐l̴̥̪͌̎͜ë̴͙̜́̎ͅę̷̼͙͉̓p̸̞̖̦͝,̴̞̯͇͐͂͒̿̆͜͝ ̶̡͕̦̭͓͓͘ǫ̴̧̞̹̱̱̾̒̈́̉̀n̸̛͉̻̝̺̱̖̄̈l̶̖̞̣̰̙̩̋͌̔y̶̟͇͕͂͌͗̄̿̈́̏ ̴̛̜̘̝̪̏̇̑̈́͋͜ẗ̷̙́̅͗̓ö̶͕̫̠́̾́ ̴̛̺̈́a̸̫͕̪͊͒͆̿́̊͠w̸̯̦̘͂ă̵̰̼͕̬͉͆̉k̵͓̀̈́̓͐ě̴͇̝̣n̵̫͚͕̫̰̈́̑͆ ̷̨̧̪͎̞͈̃̓͆̾ͅh̸̡͓̹̦́͗́̾͘͘̕͜ͅo̵̹̐̐̅́͒́ḽ̶͑ĺ̴͎̬̐̃̈́o̷͎̤͓͉̖͐̃́̄̅̊̕͜w̴̢̲͈̬͍͓̲͐̈̅͗̒̿̌.̵̱̺̹̝̖̽̇͋̿̽̏̀ ̷̪͔̓̈̒̚͜S̷͚͍̰̋ú̵̫͚́̏̈́͛͠͠c̶̬̺̔h̶̥̺̻̱̽̆̽̋̅́ ̷̨̼̖̣̯̱̐̂i̵̹͖̟͖̮̇̆s̵̥̺͒̒̑̒̔͘ ̷̫̥̳̥̔̀̈́̓ț̵̆̚h̸̬̹̤̝̘̿ę̷̬̻̍ ̷̧̥͈̄̓̆̑̎c̸̛̹͇̪̩̣̪̒̇̿͗͜u̵̫̱̼̦̾̀̈̈́͐̂̂r̴̭̃͋̈̎̀̉͜s̵̨̨͈͚̀̈̊͠ę̴̗͚͎̖̞͌̆̂̇͌͝ ̷̦͎̰̭̯̲̿ͅǒ̴̪͇͙̈̊f̴̹̰̪͍̞̅͜ͅ ̶̜̗̘̫̲́͒̿͘͝t̸̜̩̗̪̟̫̆͆h̸͇̼̻͔̙̼̽̀e̸̩̙̲͕̯̐̏̈́ ̸̦̮̦͘õ̵̗̉̌͑̓̕͠n̷̡̐̈́̄e̵̹͚̦̟̓̀̍̔̈́̄ ̶̟͓͕̀̉͝ẁ̵͕̂͌͐i̷̢̯͔̖̙̅̂̎͜ṱ̴͆̈́͛̅h̷̢̨̭̫̺̰͓̑̍͊̑̔ ̸̢̥͇̓̔̊͗p̴͍̤̄̚͝ͅở̷͔̺̖̜̭͖͂̓͗͜w̷̖̭͕͈̃͆̈́͆ę̷̢̼̟͚̰̏r̸̢͖̫̻̼͋̿͌̾͆ ̷̩̬͓͆̒͛̾a̸̞͇͖̙̟̅͆̀̋̆̆͝ǹ̴̗͙̆̒̾͒͛̕d̴̦̫̥̈́͆ ̶̻̌̓́̈̕ẁ̷̧̪̮̟̽͜i̶̩͇̙̋̌̽͜ͅl̵̩̲̟̠̯͌̅ͅĺ̷̥́͗ ̴̱͑̏͋͊̚ṫ̵̥̺̈́͛̎́ō̷͈̙ ̸͇͈͑s̴̭̘͂̽̈́̿̑͝ḷ̶̤̣̀̕a̸̢̫̖̱͊̔y̴̪̦͕͆ ̸͔̹̪͊̽̕Ġ̴̗̝͓̹̪̼̄̌͆͗̂ö̵͓̳̳̏͋̏͝͠ḍ̴̹̀s̶͈̬̠̱̞̋H̶̢̲̙͖͎͔͚̿̀̿̽͝o̶̮͉̖̜͕̟̾w̴̱͓̠̬̄̚ ̵̤͎̜̄̅d̵̲͓̝̜͎̺̏̋̌͜a̴͙͖̺͎̅̈́̍̈r̴̮̻̙̱̠͌͆̈e̵̥̼͖͙̱̊ ̴̧̦̪͚̪̩̍̈́̉y̸̙̮̔̈́̆̆̿̂́ơ̶̘̮̜͇̟̼͜ǔ̶̧̺̖̙ ̴͚̤̀̄p̴̩͇͔̦̈́r̶̡͕͆̾̆̿̏́̓è̶̯͚͔͑͂͑t̸̡̻̭̃͝e̵̼̊̄̓ñ̶̡̢̦̬̰̎͜ḋ̷̳͕̙̫̻̉̋̈ ̴͙͎̥̳̹̤̰̑͗t̶̰̭̤̺͐͑̾͐͝͠͠ö̷̩̺̩̯̳́̆̈́͜ ̸̗̗̟̀c̶̢͕̮̥̗̰͆a̴̛̖͙͎͐̔͂͛̚r̶̝̱̬̲͍͇͒̿ë̶̻̲̲̆̈́̓̑ ̵̖̻̰͊̎́͒͌w̵̢̳̺̒͗̅̒i̸̢͕̯͑̐͆͗͜͜SOLAIREf̵̣̤͙̩͍̲̻̒͝ ̶͕̱̜̓͌͋̿̉͠m̷̲̺̲̫̳̘̈̉͠ǫ̶̛͈̰̲̞̰͖̑́ù̸̠͙̬̿͘n̸̳̟̰̓͊̀̿͌̕t̴̛̠͔̻̩̹̊͐̄ḁ̵̢̣̖̽̌̓͑́͜͠i̸̜̞͌͛̒͂̎́͠n̶͎̺̾s̷͙̈́́̓͒ ̸̛̬͔͍̅͜ó̴͈̳͚̤̎̃̀̄ͅn̵̮̖̜͂ ̵̢̠̭̈́̍y̶̢̛̪̭̗͙̐̋o̸̧̎̐̓̐ư̵̧̺̳̣̪̬͌̃̐̆̚͝r̸͙͊̈́̄ ̸̨̧̘̜̠̂͜s̶̻̤̍͐͊͝ǫ̷͚͙̟͉͑̆̈́u̵̺̖̿͒̌l̸̰̠͎͕͔͐̅̑.̵̮̤̘̯̹̑̀̅̒ͅ ̶̢̲͑̈͘͘͠ͅŃ̸̢͍̭̆͜͠í̵͖̫̗͍̱͚̻̀͋̊͝ẗ̸̳̭̼̜̑͊ö̸̫̻̍ ̴̩̗͎͂͗̄̂̉̐h̶̙͒͝ả̶̼̟̙͈̺̬̗͐̐̂̅̍́d̶̢̛͔̖̽̚ ̶̲̮̠͛̄̔̚n̸͓̙̪̭͛̋̉͆͝ö̴͖̫̜̦̪̤́̿̈̽͘͜͝ť̶̠̿̈́ ̷̛̠̩̂̓̈́̑̔c̴̹̙̹̻͉̤̈́͆l̷̛͕͐͛̌̇a̷̺͖̩̓͗i̷̼̞̱̦̜͈̋̂͐͊͂̏m̷̬͓̘͗̐́̚ẹ̴̡̱̥͉̻̦́̿̆̄̂͒̀d̶̘̝̙̟̺̝͋ ̷̨͇̪̆̔̆̃̈́̀å̴͖̟͍̟̬͈͑̂s̷̹͋̋̈́͋͒̒͘ ̷̯͊̔̓̑͆̏̈́m̶̗̰̰̀͗̒͊̏̏͠ã̷͚̋̒͆͒̋ṉ̷̨͍̺̩͎̱͊̔̏̄̊ỵ̵̜̹̰̠͖̽̀̇̂͗ ̸̺̙̮̌̂͐͜á̶̡̬͔̺̀̓ͅͅs̶̡̛͓͇̍̆͝͝ ̴͈͖̞͖̹̀̿͂̀̕̚̕ͅẏ̷̧̛̀̚͝ö̴͈́̀ư̶̞̳̋̎́͝͝ͅ,̷̫̰̳͆̏̌̅͛̔͝ ̴̡̰̩̳̞̲̃͌̃̈͝n̵̳͖̜͂̈́̽̑̇͜͠o̸͓̭͓̊͊r̸͙͍̰̲͓͑̕͝ ̴̨̳̻̣̝̤̏̎ẖ̸̆ḁ̷̛̫͂̿͒̀̉͠ş̶͇̻̹̟͑́͘̚ ̷̣̟̲̏̄̓̿̽̋̈G̶̲̙̟̓̚w̷̦̹̼͍͔̓̿̅̓͐͋̚y̸̳̬͇̮͑͂̀̊̀͊̄n̸͍̜͕̽̈̓͋̅͊̚͜.̷̞͇̖̥̬̹̯̏ ̶̨̛͈̔̽̅͑Y̷͚͐͆͂͌͆̾o̶̹̫̔̃̊̍͛̂u̵͇̬̒ ̴̥̮̠̪̳̍̒͘̚͝a̵̛̗͊̐͆l̶̲̙̺̼̍̓͌̿̎̔̈o̷̻̳̳̺͠ń̸̼̼̪̯̥̯̆̒̕ḛ̴̢͖͈͉͈̺͒̏͂̔̚ ̶̝́͂̈͠͝a̶̖̮̩̗͖̹͊͂̽r̴̜͈͍͈̈̓͆͘ͅê̶̼͕̜̥̺̬̏ ̷̼̬̪̻̜̀̈̌̅̆̈̕t̶̖̪̹̉̆h̷̻̰̠̽e̷̲̿̾͂̊̕͘̕ ̶͖̤̫̫̩̀͂̐͘ȩ̵͖̦̓̕n̷͔̙̖͋̆̏́̂̀͘͜ḑ̵̠̱̖̎͛͝ ̶̧͖̤̻̻͂͛̃̐͗ȯ̴͚́̅f̵͍̖̥̓̿͒̓͝ ̶̩͒̓͘͠ā̷̱̰͕̫͙̐̈̚͘͝ḷ̵̨͇̳̙͛̂̐ͅl̶̬̺̭͑̈́͋̐͝,̸̡̱̝̪̹̖̋̐͂̓̽͌̔ͅ ̶̮̮̼̍ų̷̘̙̹͔̆̈́̕n̶͉̓͝d̸̹̜̍̽̈́̍͑͠ȩ̶͖͙̣̺͙̎͒̉̚s̶̥̮̻̻̯̱̋̐̉̕͝ȩ̸͉̲̀͊͠r̶͔̩̀ͅv̵̳͖̩̖̇̓̑͌̈́̊ī̷̱̳̜̜̕ṇ̷̡̛̅̈́͂̎͝g̸̳͕̦̬̒̚ ̵̢̯͇͊͑͒́o̶̙̤̔͊f̸͙̗̫̓̔̋̕ ̸̡̤̪̥̖͉̘̀̽̍̓p̷͙͙͙̾̌ͅŗ̸̯̰̱͂̈́̎à̷̺̦̻̺̼̣̘͊ĩ̶̻̱̃͐s̶̩̀͗͋͝e̶̛͔̱͗͌ ̸͙̘̹͌͝ö̴̻͕͍̯̼̰́̋̾̑̌̄ṙ̸͎̻͈̹͚̙ ̶̬̳̏̽̕c̵̛̊̓͜r̶̲͗̔͆̏̎̕͠ó̸̡̯̹̙͔̥̯w̴̘͖̻̥̖̒͒͒̋̈́͝n̴̝̖͈̹͛̕ ̶̗̣͔̤͇̩͋͐̎͐͂ỵ̷͗̈́̿̾͗ó̵̜̺̟̯̟͎̺̋ǔ̴̧̼͉̩̫̠̒ ̸̹̦̲͓̤͂͘͝m̸̟̗̰̓̄͆̚͝į̶͇͈̽͐̕n̸̰̭̝͍̋̒̑d̵͇͉̲͖̊͆̾͜l̸͔͇̜͗é̸̡̨̦̺̊s̷̩̬̤͕̯̪̉̄͛͘š̶̤̰̩̝̩̺͜l̸͎͙͗̑̀̃͜y̷͇̾̆̎͆̄̉͝ ̵̹̬͋̉̿̓̍̌p̸̛̫͇̓͋̅́́͠ù̶͇̣̤̪̓̏̚͜r̵͈͗̑̌̀͆̚͝ṣ̴̛͉͍͋̃̂̕u̷͔͍̦̍͛́̀̀̈͝ͅe̸̗̥̽͜d̵̛͍̮̭͇͇͑̐̀̾͗̚.̶͕̟̿̚ ̸̝̃͑͝F̷̛̳̥͕͉̰̲̪̅ă̵̠̫̬̼͋r̷̠̈̈́̃̉͠͠ ̶͇̙̬̦̜̥̫̽̋̒̎t̸͈̫̻́͋͆̿̿̉͝ó̶̭͚͛̒̉ȍ̵̢̹͔̼̰͙̫̑̌̃̚ ̸̰͌̿̈̈͐g̶͈̽̇̿̈́͝ư̵̥̱̐̂͘͜t̵̼͉̜͇͑̕l̸̖̘͓̖̦̙͑̇̚͠e̵̛̩͕͐s̴͕͙̼̪̦͚̳̾̓͒̅͊̀š̷̪͕͕̾̇̇͊͘ ̸̨̩̝̳̔̇ͅẗ̸̟̉̈́̀͋͌̚o̵̢̝͎͇̓́̈͜͠ͅ ̸̢̫͓̂̆̑͑͘̚͝c̸͎̟̱͇̅̈́̿̆̃͒l̶̩̼̟͊̅͋̔ͅá̸̢̢̛͍͈̰́ĩ̷̧̜͎̳̼̚͠m̷̨̖̰͆̆ ̵̨̩͔͖̞̘̩̅͘ê̵̗̗̟̻̥͙̅͋̍̅̀ḭ̴̼̖͍͓́͝t̴͖̤͔̫̪͉̣͋͐̑̌͌́h̸̬̰̺̭̰̿͑͊͝ę̵̱͔̟͇̻͍͂̄̑̕̚r̴͓̟̳̄̒͝,̵̨̯̹̼̮̤̌̊̓̃ ̶͉͖̤̉͐̒̃w̷͔̝̙͖̠̑̃̏o̷̩͎̍̅͋̿̚͝r̴͕̼̦̦̈́̽̎̋r̴͖̝͊͒̒͋͌ī̶̱̱̥͕̦̅̐͗̄è̴̹͓̟͝͝͠d̷̖̙̫̹̤̀ ̶̞̔̀̄͆ͅo̵̪͉̟̓̍f̶̤̭͒͌͜ ̷̧͚̻͖̚y̵̩͇̺̘͆̿ơ̴̧͈̥̬̽͒̈́̚ͅu̴̬͝r̸̡̡͉̻͙͉̂ ̵͈̆͘͝p̸̧̮̲̞͍̖͔͗̇ỉ̶̺̲͙̩̮̘̌̀́̄͋t̸̡̛̲͖͔̲͋̿͂̂̎͠ ̵̦̞̟̈͛̓͝d̷̳͇̝̜̺̪̈e̵̙̖̩̱͙̠̽ͅē̸̗̖p̶̪̱̂̑̀ ̸̻̲̭̞͖̠͔̒͝ẅ̴̧̛̯́̒̽̕̕ͅį̷̝̜̬͎̭͗t̵̟̤͊͐͒͂̕̚h̵̝̟̮̲͐̌i̸̠͚̍͠n̶̘̖̟̻̗̪̏ ̴̱̿t̵͍̼̭̀h̶͚̠͍̥̩̫̺̑̋̄̀̇͛ḙ̴̡͉̲̭̻̿͐̎̊̐̈́ ̶̳̲́̈́̓͠͝ḩ̴͉̋̌̊͜ę̷̖͍͕̆́̓̑̕ͅá̵͍r̵̡̖̥̐̀̅ṯ̴̑ ̸͔̆͗͗̇̓͒̚s̷̯͖̍̓̿̐̉̚o̵͍̿ ̵̧̧̣͇̗̔̈̚̚c̴̹͖̳̘̀̆́̎͆̀̕ȑ̶̢͖̀̍̋͗̄ǘ̶̢̥͔͇̣̫̒̈̋͋̔ͅd̶̲́̌͒̄̎͗̊ȅ̶͓̺̟͎̼͊̏͐ḷ̸̨̬̜͎̼́ͅŷ̴͕̜͙͇̋̊̎̊͛ ̴̞̙̪̙͖̜̀t̴̡̨̨̟̪̭͌o̸̮͉̠̒̈́͋̆̓̋r̷̡͌n̸̡̮͍͆̓͛.̸̨̨̪̻͛͋͒̄ ̸̧̣̣̬̳̈́̎C̸̹̫̥͐̏̓͐̋̚͝ȗ̵͚̤̯͍̖͙̒̎͗̽̕͝ŗ̶̻͍̳̖̜̓͝s̴̡̛̭̠͍̠͕̕ě̸̪̺͖̊͐͐ͅḑ̸̜͈͍̙̎̔͗ ̷̪͓̬͍̍̉͘͘b̷̢͓͙͙̲̮̔̅̈́̐̐ȩ̷͓͎̭͔̲̿͒̆̀̀͜͝ỉ̷̯͕͙̥̬̆̊̐͑n̸̹͈̻̿̍̚ͅg̷̭͓̘̀̓͊̽̄s̸̢͈̳̼̐́ ̷̯͔̥̦̞͕̌͘ẅ̴̡̢͓̳͚͈̤́̏h̸̢̩̺̤̞̺̜̀ờ̶̝́̆̒̓̚s̸̡͈͔̼̠̊ẹ̷̀̏͗̄̋̈ ̷̹͓̒͋̆s̷̡͕̘̺̱̲̰̈̈̃̆̌t̷̼̖̮͂ę̵̅̈́͝͝͝p̴̛͍̩̟̙͎͌̓̈̿͗̚͜s̵̳̩͐̍̔̒̀͝ ̵̼͇̥̈́ȩ̴̜͎͉͔̤̋̅c̴̢̛̱̟̠̝̭͊͂͗̋h̸͕̮͍̩͓͛̽̎͆̅̌o̶̡̳̤̮͗̍ ̸̧̼̺͆͐̇ţ̴͙̗̮͖̩̦͛̋̈ḩ̶͖͔̜̲͓̎͊͋̐̄͠͝ĕ̵̩̲̄̀̄͂͘ ̵̉̓̔̂͜c̶̛̙̼̠͊̈̕̕o̴̡̺̿m̷̛̤͛͒͠i̸̯̤̝͊͐̇̃͠n̷͍̥̘͔͙̠̦̓g̶̤͔͚̰̻̊͌͌͐́̕ ̷͇̟́̈̉͐͋͠ď̸̨͉̘̅̀͌̐̕e̷̢̫̱̱̍͝͝a̴̧̡͙̺͒̐t̷̪̦̟͖͖͊͜h̴̨̦̠͕̰̰̾̓͘̕̕,̶̭̿͋̽̏̍̌̀ ̵̪̞̫͆̈̉w̷̱̘͈̫̿ͅh̵̫͋o̷͓̰̪͖̭͔̖͆̀̉͆̈̋s̶̛̠̼͉̾͌̑͠ę̶̡̥̺̙̩̽̊ ̴̢͕̜̫͕̣̗̓̔́̓͂̃͝g̵͖̞͖̈́̐̕o̷̗̅̎̀͐̋̚ȁ̵̗̜̯̲͔̣̎̈́̽̾͝l̶̲͖̍̂͘ ̴̨̝̰̫͎̼̮̍͂͛s̵̪̭̞̗͉̔̂́̈̀ͅţ̴̭͈͓̬͕̻̿̃̎͊͌̕̕ë̸̢͈͚͇̈̒ě̵̖̣̞̫͕̲̪͌̈́͑̓̒͆p̵̠̲͑̅̀͜͜͠ȩ̴̛̙̜͊̂̚d̶̺̮̣̱͛̕ ̶͖͖̦̒̕͠i̵͇̗̘͖̟̓̾̔n̶̩̗͚̦͍͕͒̆̒́̌ ̷̧̱͇̱̤̋̉̔̽̕b̴̮̗͉̜͉̉͒͒̾̈e̶̳̼͚͍̞͜͝ẗ̶̡̪̠̻̪͚̍̀̀͐r̶̫̐̋a̷̛̼͍͕̬̎̽̊͒̋ͅÿ̵͙̺͍̭̝́̎̇͗â̸͍̮͚̥l̷̡̙̤̲̎̆̂̈́͌ ̸̨̞͔̪̯̠͑̂̑͒̈́̊ä̷͓̰̺̖͇͎͊̇͐͊͌͝ṋ̶̡̮̀͜d̵̦͍̓̌̾̾̀͗ ̷̠̘̳̮̭̊̆̊̐͛̌̂s̶̡̠͓̩͋̚͘u̴͙͉͖̤͒f̶͕̺͖̲̯̈̔́̓̚͝f̷͇̼͚͚͕̉̀̀͌́͘͠ę̸͂̆̒͑̓̽͘ŗ̸̪̙̬͕̟͉̈́̾̏ȉ̵̫̯̔ṉ̴̺̄̑̕g̸̞̹͈̍͒̏̌͒̄̚ ̴͓̫̖͕̞̓͛̑͜ḧ̷̲͖̺̀̂͆͂o̴̘͔̫͙̹͆ẇ̵̬̺̰͉͉͎̦̄̇ ̸̛̼̤̞͉͘d̸͈̫͊̇͐͋̓̏̕ǎ̶̞̞̜͕̒̓̍̉r̶̰̣̙̗̲͉͒͛̒͊͆̕e̸̡̗̼̩̩̊ͅ ̷͇̇̊ÿ̴̡̧̫̳̙̜̺́̋͛̓̀͠o̴̳̦͉̊͒͋͘u̸̳̗̎͋̽́͒͂̕ ̵̧̨̤̰̘̀v̷͚͔̯͔͊̓̾̾͊͘ḯ̴̤̬̖̪̙̣̑͐̕͜͠ẹ̵̞̮͗̇͗́w̴̤̣̞͊ ̸̢̒͂b̸̺̳̣̣̭̭̚͜l̷̛̹̽̓͝i̴̭̫͔̝̖͈̒͝s̴͖̣̳̝͕̎̍̿̀͝s̸̱̦̜͉͓̍͐̿f̷̥̄̆͆̐̆̓͋ų̵̭̠̰̙͉̹̂̀͗́̍̌l̷̫̣̱͛̄̚n̸̼͕̫͎̖̯̄̂ë̵͙́̉̀͋̈͛ś̴̟̺̘͜DESIREṫ̸̛̙ơ̷̢̢̜̻̗̱͑͂̌̃͜ ̷̜̒̑̅̈̅͝š̶̨̢̟̼̜̹̌̂͐l̴̥̪͌̎͜ë̴͙̜́̎ͅę̷̼͙͉̓p̸̞̖̦͝,̴̞̯͇͐͂͒̿̆͜͝ ̶̡͕̦̭͓͓͘ǫ̴̧̞̹̱̱̾̒̈́̉̀n̸̛͉̻̝̺̱̖̄̈l̶̖̞̣̰̙̩̋͌̔y̶̟͇͕͂͌͗̄̿̈́̏ ̴̛̜̘̝̪̏̇̑̈́͋͜ẗ̷̙́̅͗̓ö̶͕̫̠́̾́ ̴̛̺̈́a̸̫͕̪͊͒͆̿́̊͠w̸̯̦̘͂ă̵̰̼͕̬͉͆̉k̵͓̀̈́̓͐ě̴͇̝̣n̵̫͚͕̫̰̈́̑͆ ̷̨̧̪͎̞͈̃̓͆̾ͅh̸̡͓̹̦́͗́̾͘͘̕͜ͅo̵̹̐̐̅́͒́ḽ̶͑ĺ̴͎̬̐̃̈́o̷͎̤͓͉̖͐̃́̄̅̊̕͜w̴̢̲͈̬͍͓̲͐̈̅͗̒̿̌.̵̱̺̹̝̖̽̇͋̿̽̏̀ ̷̪͔̓̈̒̚͜S̷͚͍̰̋ú̵̫͚́̏̈́͛͠͠c̶̬̺̔h̶̥̺̻̱̽̆̽̋̅́ ̷̨̼̖̣̯̱̐̂i̵̹͖̟͖̮̇̆s̵̥̺͒̒̑̒̔͘ ̷̫̥̳̥̔̀̈́̓ț̵̆̚h̸̬̹̤̝̘̿ę̷̬̻̍ ̷̧̥͈̄̓̆̑̎c̸̛̹͇̪̩̣̪̒̇̿͗͜u̵̫̱̼̦̾̀̈̈́͐̂̂r̴̭̃͋̈̎̀̉͜s̵̨̨͈͚̀̈̊͠ę̴̗͚͎̖̞͌̆̂̇͌͝ ̷̦͎̰̭̯̲̿ͅǒ̴̪͇͙̈̊f̴̹̰̪͍̞̅͜ͅ ̶̜̗̘̫̲́͒̿͘͝t̸̜̩̗̪̟̫̆͆h̸͇̼̻͔̙̼̽̀e̸̩̙̲͕̯̐̏̈́ ̸̦̮̦͘õ̵̗̉̌͑̓̕͠n̷̡̐̈́̄e̵̹͚̦̟̓̀̍̔̈́̄ ̶̟͓͕̀̉͝ẁ̵͕̂͌͐i̷̢̯͔̖̙̅̂̎͜ṱ̴͆̈́͛̅h̷̢̨̭̫̺̰͓̑̍͊̑̔ ̸̢̥͇̓̔̊͗p̴͍̤̄̚͝ͅở̷͔̺̖̜̭͖͂̓͗͜w̷̖̭͕͈̃͆̈́͆ę̷̢̼̟͚̰̏r̸̢͖̫̻̼͋̿͌̾͆ ̷̩̬͓͆̒͛̾a̸̞͇͖̙̟̅͆̀̋̆̆͝ǹ̴̗͙̆̒̾͒͛̕d̴̦̫̥̈́͆ ̶̻̌̓́̈̕ẁ̷̧̪̮̟̽͜i̶̩͇̙̋̌̽͜ͅl̵̩̲̟̠̯͌̅ͅĺ̷̥́͗ ̴̱͑̏͋͊̚ṫ̵̥̺̈́͛̎́ō̷͈̙ ̸͇͈͑s̴̭̘͂̽̈́̿̑͝ḷ̶̤̣̀̕a̸̢̫̖̱͊̔y̴̪̦͕͆ ̸͔̹̪͊̽̕Ġ̴̗̝͓̹̪̼̄̌͆͗̂ö̵͓̳̳̏͋̏͝͠ḍ̴̹̀s̶͈̬̠̱̞̋.̵͚̖̎̀̐̿́̚͝
"Finally. Peace and quiet."
He spoke to himself, sitting by the fire. Alone, such was his desire.
…
Hmm…
I suppose it has been awhile since I read that conversation…
I wonder… I stared forward into the happy scenery, smiles and even awe surrounding me. Putting it all into my memory for later scribing…
Which memory would be hollowed next?
