Sammy, do you think of yourself as attractive?
( ♫ ) —— “ Would you call THIS attractive? “ his voice oozed with nothing but contempt. Was this an attempt to mock him? to taunt him for bearing such a disgusting form? “ This body is a prison, a curse we’re all forced to bear.” Fingers clutched at the edges of his mask, almost protectively “ There’s nothing to admire about it. “
——
( ♫ ) —— Now THAT question he was not prepared for. The composer paused in disbelief for a second, trying to make sure on what could be a good way to answer to but-
“ Now...I-I, I don’t think I can be the judge of that. “
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Inkyboi Sammy, do you miss your hair?
( ♫ ) —— “ Ah, my hair? “
A hand instinctively reached up to his head. Fingers buried in the ink that dripped from his form, stroking gently what once was there. “ I remember it being brown...” or was it? He could barely remember. “ It was long, flowing — I remember it being so long...” Or at the very least, it was, until one day —
“ We all have sacrifices to make... “ the prophet paused, his fingers grasping his mask almost defensively. Whatever memory had been awoken, it was not a pleasant one.
“ Of course I do, I miss it deeply. But what is the point of indulging in the past, my little sheep? ” for there are more important things to devote ourselves to “ Once the Lord grants us his mercy, we will no need to worry any further...”
We just have to BELIEVE.
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