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  • For a moment he grasped the serrated blade tightly, pressing against his own flesh. Every second that passed the keen edge burrowed farther into the epidermis not quite separating the barriers of blood and hearth. Tears bead from his sunken pools, not of sadness but joy. A specific happiness found in the completion of academia or some arduous feat. One that the stars could align too and bring the gods a little closer to home with it. Finally his beacon of hope had been sent, becoming the gauchos in unexplored lands and a glimmer of what was and has been.
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