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... ld machine just starting up, but it moved. That was enough. That was proof. Proof that I was still me. Proof that the blood that had tried to claim me, hadn't won.
I stood. My legs were unsteady at first, weak from disuse, but they held. They would hold. Because I willed them to.
And so I turned my gaze outward.
The world stretched before me—an endless canvas of red and blue, of contradiction, of unnatural beauty. The sky, the sun, the air itself—red, bleeding, endless. B ...
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