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... 's not that long of a story. Not that complicated either.
Back when my mother still twitched now and then, I had shoved her hand into one of the two slots of my inventory. I did it because the overwhelming presence I felt every time I touched that hand was simply too much to bear.
As a wretched, unregistered person, I was never welcome anywhere. I lived in fear that someone might discover I was a worshipper of an evil god, so I could never stay in one place for long. It was all a ...
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