What do you think you're
up to? You're trying to decide
my fate as if I'm a beast
about to be slaughtered or
sacrificed on an altar, and
you cannot see that I have
free will. These scars on my
body are proof that I do not
want to be played like a pawn
on a chessboard, my future only
known by you. Are you really
that blind? Do you honestly
think I will sit by and let
you pick over my life like a
vulture over dead carrion? No!
I will cut until I die, or until
you give in, whichever way I'll
win. I can cut forever; it's easy
to cut away my bastardy and
my endless misery. The fact that
I am probably going to die is not
a problem to you.
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