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Written on August 5, 2019 (♌)

Author's Notes: Forever salty about how a certain dumb magic rock only brings one unbelieving, jerkbag brother back from the dead and he doesn't even have a cool skilset.


Rafa ran to where Ramza sat on the stone steps, a thin layer of ash settling over his features. He did not respond to her voice: not when she called his name, not when she tried to comfort him, not when she wept herself. It was only when her hands touched the ragged, crescent-shaped wounds on his neck and face that he finally reacted, sobbing like a child who had been beaten.

"How did you do it?" he whispered. "What did I do wrong?"

A red stone, tip sharper than a scorpion's tail, clattered to the floor from his hands.


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