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Death greets us all with a cold handshake - ravens and us, alike. For who is our enemy then? Is it Death - who is fair and equal in judgement to all living things? Or is it Time - who demands its cruel pace for which we all must abide?
Perhaps, then, we only have ourselves to blame. Perhaps we have no true enemies, and we are merely crying out in frustration. Time is fleeting, and our hearts fickle. Our time is short, and death is surely always at hand. For what are we but flesh and breath, viscera and vapor?
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