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An online ''paragraph journal'', as I like to call them.
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:: Monday, January 06, 2003 ::

Written FEB 10, 2002- 11:09 PM

What is it like to be near death?
I know.
It happens when it is least conveinient; while you are running alongside The Master's horse, or as you wake up in the early, early morn to the chime of a delicate bell- a bell that summons you instantly to The Master's side. Of course, I am not the only one who has felt it- almost every peasant/servant of a noble knows the feeling well.
But what is 'it'? you ask. Death. At that word, do you shudder? At the sound, do you bite back a moan of mortal terror, knowing what words may follow? I didn't think so. Death is, after all, not uncommon- and a servant is easily replaced.
And death itself is simple. One feels a mist- a dark, odorless smoke surrounding them. Your head pounds, and you know you must move- get up and be active or it will engulf you and take you away comepletely. But do you care? It's an easy way out of this life, and the only way as well. Your vision blurs and goes out of focus. Dark smoke- swelling, moving, surrounding you on all sides...
hundreds of servants die from surrendering to this black mist. Many of them are just like me. Many are my friends. In fact, there is only one big difference between them and me.

I haven't died yet.
:: Devin 4:54 PM [+] ::
...
Written JAN 22, 2002- 1:09 PM

"She had long, ragged black hair that had been loosely braided and tied with twine. She wore a loose shirt, a pale brownish color, and a pair of dirty breeches; There were patches scattered randomly over well- worn areas. Her feet were callused and swollen, as though she had never seen so much as a sock in her life. But all of this could be forgotten with a look into her eyes- they were a striking violet, sad and innocent."
:: Devin 4:40 PM [+] ::
...

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