• Vol. 01
  • Chapter 12
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Scoria

I can't help if my shoulders are pyroclastic and the rocks seep all upside my back. I can't tell you how long I've stood here neither, but the sky wasn't always so blue. The old explosion's only a brow and a bald and a beard -- I was meant, I suppose, for beheading. But then who will look after the view?
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