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quaint;

It’s not quite simple, this small capturing of the ten circles of hell, this frost-bitten garden that houses the empty-lidded ghost of the girl that died here, the small child who fell barefoot into a crumbling castle of wasted deliverance, of six-thousand stories that were lost in the passages of time and now wait here, shriveled and disappearing, waiting for some rescue call that would have saved them all, saved her, saved the ragged innocence from the knife of the demons, the shadows of the devil…





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