Chapter 34 - The Student
Light Flow was... not feeling so great.
A somewhat unsurprising fact which was likely blatantly obvious to everypony in the room; since it was probably fairly hard to miss the isolated table with the isolated unicorn glumly sitting with his head on his hooves. Like some kind of petulant foal left on the sidelines and forced to watch the fun.
It wasn't like he was being forced to sit there, of course; but the thought of doing... anything, was really just mildly repelling. Lethargy filled his veins in great amounts, and he would welcome it for as long as it flowed.
Ever since the apple pony had gone off upstairs to presumably talk to Rarity, he had been... less than motivated to partake in the festivities around him. He was comfortable enough to periodically turn his head to lazily take note of where everypony was and what they were doing, but that itself was really more of a comfort than anything else.
It was just the underlying feeling that he had some kind of awareness. Some kind of greater grasp on his surroundings than just... knowing they were there. Being vaguely cognizant of the fact that there was merriment and whatnot, rather than just... sitting around.
Like he was doing.
A quiet hum rose in his throat for a moment as he closed his eyes, and he moved his hooves to rest over his face. The sudden darkness was far less appealing than he had imagined, and it was barely more than a moment before he moved his hooves away and raised his head to stare somewhat blurrily down at the glaring pink and purple patterns of the tablecloth.
His sudden movement jostled the object on his head, which he had actually forgotten about in all the tedium. His hoof came up to rest on the sleek, rounded surface of a party hat; and a mirthless chuckle slipped out to quickly die in his aura of negativity.
At some random unspecified point, Pinkie must have noticed how obviously sad he was trying to make himself look; because she suddenly materialized next to him with a hat in her hooves and a smile on her face. 'Come on, Night-Light! Don't look so glum, it's a party!'
He couldn't quite remember if that was exactly what she said, but it was something vaguely insulting yet somehow also uplifting. She had taken his traditional moment of Pinkie Pie induced shock to snap the hat's band under his jaw in a spectacular breach of his personal space, before immediately bouncing off to bug her guests some more.
He could have taken the hat off after she left, he supposed...
A mental picture of a brown unicorn with a cartoonishly large frown wearing a festive party hat flashed into his mind; and a quiet laugh bubbled in his chest at the thought.
He would wear the hat, to make Pinkie happy. And also in some part because he knew he looked somewhat funny.
With his momentary lapse in depression over, he allowed his hoof to fall back down onto the table as he tried to tune back into his surroundings. He was... less than successful, as he had been for nearly the entire time he had been here.
If he was being honest with himself, he wasn't really cognizant of the party around him; or much of anything else. It was all just a loud haze of colors and faces that just made him so tired to look at. He had the basic focus to pick out Pinkie Pie and maybe even Rainbow Dash on occasion, but not often.
He wasn't quite sure why they were the specific objects of his focus, but it could be easily chalked up to the obvious feelings of familiarity. He had faint recollections of various other ponies at the party, but nothing beyond a half-formed name and a passing meeting here and there. Whether anypony else at the party knew him, he was essentially sitting in a crowd of strangers.
It was all just so hard to reconcile in his head. Back when he had woken up, pony watching had been a welcome delight to his confused and addled mind. It had made him feel intelligent and comfortably removed, like an unseen spectator or a witty puppet master. But now, the thought of trying to keep track of so much at once...
The silly party hat on his head suddenly felt very heavy, and it took more energy than it should've to continue staring aimlessly down at the table.
He didn't want to be at the party, he didn't want to pony watch, and he didn't want to wait for the apple pony to come and unmask him. He wanted to go home.
But that was exactly the problem nagging at him. Truth be told, he didn't really mind the party, and he wasn't that scared of the orange cowpony. He was fairly sure the pony who he knew to be his friend wouldn't do anything to hurt him, nor would anypony else at the party. No, his fears had decided to lay on a rather sobering fact that was very far removed from any other problem he had faced all day.
He didn't know where he lived.
The barest peek into the consequences behind that thought was enough send a violent shiver down his spine, and he had to shake his head roughly to dislodge an intrusive twitch in his ear. The saliva in his mouth suddenly felt heavy enough to choke him, and he swallowed nervously as he cast a paranoid eye into the room.
Nopony was openly staring at him, though the density of ponies in the room seemed higher than it had been when he'd last checked. If anypony had noticed his brief seize, they didn't seem keen on showing it; so he turned his attention away from the shapeless blob of mostly unfamiliar faces.
This new fear in his ever expanding catalogue was really getting to him, though it was easy to see why. During his entire bout of amnesia, he had dealt with a lot of 'issues'. His lack of memories, his lack of moral fiber, and how those things were negatively affecting the creatures around him. Three problems that he personally felt as though had been handled as well as he'd been able, though they were all quite easily categorized as fairly unimportant in the grand scheme of events.
Maybe he was just trying to minimize the emotional impact of what had happened to him, he didn't know; but the obvious fact of the matter was, simply put, this new problem was of a different nature. It was far more real, far, far more impactful. He could honestly say that whatever issue he'd had with losing more memories and personality wasn't nearly as scary or provoking.
He knew how messed up he was in the head, and it was an easy problem he'd been dealing with all day; but what would he do when the day was over? How would he deal with a problem not found in his own head? Where was he going to go? Did he have family to go home to? Did he even have a home?
Family, that was another thing; he couldn't remember having any. Did that mean he was alone, or had he just forgotten about them? Was there somepony out there waiting for him? Were they worried?
It was becoming very difficult to properly control his rapid breathing, but that was probably to be expected given the encroaching panic at the very solid problem sitting squarely on his plate. There were few things quite as real as the sudden realization of homelessness.
No matter how he looked at it, from where he was currently sitting there was just no way out of the problem. He wasn't likely to remember anytime soon without some sort of trigger, which left scarce roads open to him. While somepony may know about his amnesia quite soon, his secret was safe for the moment; which meant there wasn't anypony he could ask, either.
There was no solution without compromising his secret, which really left one option open to him. Without anything to do about it, he just needed to forget about the problem. If he didn't think about it too hard, he could comfortably rest in obliviousness; and continue with his normal array of mental battles. It wasn't quite the healthiest option, but that was hardly anything new for him.
All he had to do was.. stop thinking about it.
Taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment did wonders for his racing heart; and as he closed his eyes and the world fell away around him, he could already feel himself losing the creeping dread that accompanied the all-consuming thought that he had nowhere to go after the party and there might be somepony somewhere missing him and- moon damnit.
His eyes dragged themselves open to stare angrily at the innocent swirls of yellow on the unassuming background of purple that made up the tablecloth. Yeah, there was little to no chance he could find any way to reasonably ignore the crisis on the horizon. Though, at least he could trick himself into turning his fear and depression into annoyance at himself.
He was an idiot, problem solved.
The bright tones of the table were beginning to agitate his rising headache, so he cast his attention instead to the window. The sun was beginning to lower itself down, which lit the town rather prettily in the falling dusk. He could already see ponies trotting about, going on with the end of the day; completely oblivious to the party in the library and the turmoil in his-
Wait... He could swear that particular pony was familiar...
The passing recollection stirred curiosity in his chest, driving away scarce amounts of the dejection clogging most of his faculties. An ear managed to find the energy to flick once in rising interest; as he pressed his nose softly against the cold, yellowed glass pane.
The lengthening shadows cutting dark furrows into the ground made it harder than it should have been to pick out any details, but he was fairly sure he had seen that mare-
"SHE'S HERE! CUT THE LIGHTS!"
The rising noise of the party was suddenly drowned out by a loud, almost deafening warning call. Pinkie had a real set of lungs on her, and she seemingly used them to great effect. And parties. Mostly parties.
The shock nearly drove him to drive his head through the window, but he satisfied the forces of torment well enough by simply gently bashing his forehead against the window. He brought a hoof up to hold against the slightly stinging bruise as he turned to regard the activity that had suddenly whipped up.
While his ears recovered from the shrill scream and his head recovered from the shrill bonk, ponies around the room began tripping over themselves to clear from the middle of the room. Gradual understanding began to dawn on him as, one by one, everypony around him quietly took a place staring towards the entrance.
He almost had the courage to ask into the sudden hush of the room whether he should also get ready, before all of the lights suddenly shut off all at once.
As the pitch descended over him, he immediately felt uncomfortable. He hadn't been in the dark since he woke up, and now he was wishing he could have stayed that way. With the pressing darkness around him, the feeling of being watched that had vaguely plagued him during his entire time at the party somehow grew worse.
The feeling burned into his coat, sending shivers through his skin and piercing down to his bones. A sick feeling in his stomach pumped irregularly in time with his rapid heartbeat, and he was suddenly aware that he didn't know where the bathroom was.
The sheer contrast in atmosphere certainly wasn't helping. It had been scant few moments ago that a somewhat uproarious party was only just beginning to rage, and now it was just him and the quiet.
It didn't feel like there were many sets of eyes on him, but just one pair. One pair, with their sharp edges and glittering depths that spoke nothing of their intentions. Deep and dark and blue, like the night's sky. Creeping towards him hungrily, just waiting to consume him and cast him into a familiar abyss of eternal shadow.
Okay that was a weirdly specific and somewhat grim twist on the itchy heat in his chest, but at least he could be imaginative in the face of irrationality.
Creepy creativity aside; If he wasn't still in a room full of ponies, he was reasonably sure he would be freaking out. A fear of the dark wasn't something he expected at all, and he was really hoping Twilight would just quit dawdling and come in soon.
There must have been a shooting star passing by, because the door swung itself open moments later. Bronze, burning light spilled shallowly into the room, and the shadowed form of a mare trotted heavily into the room.
"Spike! Are you here?" The annoyed tone in Twilight's voice cut harshly into the shadows of the room, and he found himself wincing in the dark. An aggravated sigh loosed into the room, and a small fount of guilt welled up in his chest. He probably should have tried a bit harder to help Spike find her, instead of just waiting it out at the library.
Irritated mutters sounded loudly in the quiet room, as Twilight turned to the door and shut the light away with a flick of her hoof. With the room once more cast into complete darkness, he lost track of Twilight's position; though he could still hear her talking to herself quietly as she moved about the room.
"Of all the times for him to run off with some creepy stranger... He had better be okay... Where's the Celestia-damned light?... We don't have time for this... I need to do research on the elements and Nightmare-"
Her monologue was suddenly cut off as all of the lights in the room came on at once. Two shrieks of fright found themselves lost in the near-immediate chorus that followed, as the gaggle of ponies hidden in the corners of the room simultaneously shouted one word.
"SURPRISE!"
Twilight's head whipped in every direction as she likely panicked for a moment, before the reality of the situation kicked in and she realized it was a party and not an ambush. Her head lowered, and she let out a suffering sigh as uproarious laughter made its way around the room.
If he had to make a guess, she probably wished it had been an ambush.
He watched for a moment as Pinkie Pie swarmed the unfortunate mare, before setting his attention to his own racing heart. He allowed his hoof to rest on his chest as he breathed a deep sigh, though it was a bit shaky.
Twilight's fear was expected, his was just embarrassing.
He let his eyes dart around the room in a fit of paranoia, and when he was reasonably sure nopony had noticed his outburst: he allowed the tension in his withers to fade. He set his hooves on the table, and lowered his head to rest on them.
He was fine. His eyes stung a bit from the sudden light, but he vastly preferred that to the darkness.
His breath continued to come and go deeply, while he took a moment to evaluate Twilight. He could still see her out of the corner of his eye, and he could certainly hear Pinkie Pie. She was hovering around the poor mare, chattering on and on about parties and first meetings and whatnot.
He pitied her a fair amount, though he wouldn't actually mind a conversation to fill the silence immediately around him.
There may have been a perpetual air of loneliness suffusing the area around him, but the rest of the room wasn't affected. With Twilight in the room, the party found an easy return to an upbeat atmosphere of friendly socializing and excited movements. Somepony had even started a gramophone that hadn't been playing before, and a lively tune filled the room.
All in all, it was quite the occasion. It seemed like most of the ponies were somewhat indifferent to the recipient of the party, but a couple of them managed to brave the miasma of words around Pinkie Pie to wish a welcome to Twilight. For her part, she mostly took the entire thing in an annoyed stride, and she even seemed to be holding her decent own against Pinkie Pie.
She couldn't really keep up, but a comment here and there was better than he'd been able to do. He'd applaud her if he didn't still feel so lethargic.
Across the room, Pinkie Pie seemed to be looking for something now; which for some reason included actually lifting Twilight by her waist to furtively check under her. To Twilight's noticeable discredit: she seemed too shocked to adequately protest before she was roughly set back on her hooves, none the worse for wear.
Though, she sure didn't stay that way. Once Pinkie had set her safely on the floor, Twilight seemed to somehow become even more annoyed, if such a thing was even possible. She tossed her head as a snippet of an aggravated shout managed to make its way over the sounds of the party; followed by a dip in volume and posture as she clenched her jaw and hissed something undoubtedly volatile.
Pinkie, as was typical of her, completely disregarded whatever rude thing Twilight probably said in favor of smiling widely at her; before chattering something likely too fast to understand, and promptly bouncing to the door.
He watched for a moment as Pinkie threw the wooden portal open and launched herself outside; making herself quite absent from her own party, which was admittedly very strange. The obvious first question on his mind would be where she had gone, though a close second would be why Twilight seemed so annoyed. Aside, of course, from the many other things that were already quite obviously annoying her.
Including him, apparently.
Dread began to creep over the fading embers of panic as Twilight's eyes came to rest on him, and an accusatory expression quickly molded onto her face. She barely stopped to stare at him for a moment before she was rudely shouldering her way past a pony or two in-between them, seemingly intent on bringing him to some kind of justice.
He thought about quietly whispering some prayer for solitude, but decided against it in favor of simply looking as inconspicuous as possible. If he just kept his head down well enough, maybe she would decide not to bother him? She was a mare of intellect, perhaps she was just as indecisive as he was? No, that was dumb; what was wrong with him?
A quick glace to the corner of his eye made it clear there was little stopping Twilight from blazing a war-path in his direction, unfortunately. She looked really mad at him. What had he even done to her? Well, besides completely absconding with someone he had gathered to be something of a cross between her son and brother. Maybe she did have a good reason to be mad, then; but abscond wasn't really even a good word for it any-
"You!" The heated word reached the table a second before she did, and he quickly pressed his ears to his head as he raised it to stare into the burning eyes of Twilight Sparkle. He did his best to look chagrined as she stood there huffing angrily, but he could tell the expression wasn't as genuine as it could've been.
He felt sorry, sure; but the problem currently staring him down felt just a bit less important than... just about everything that had and soon would happen to him.
She may have been taking a moment to catch her breath, or maybe Twilight was just collecting herself as her gaze turned to rest on the floor; but either way, she eventually sucked in a deep breath and turned a markedly less heated gaze on him. When she spoke, her words were far less biting than he'd been expecting; though there was a quiet intensity to them that might've been worse. "I've been looking for you all day! I had to go through multiple terrible experiences with creepily friendly ponies, all without Spike!"
The snarl of her words was very intimidating, but he was still finding it somewhat difficult to feel excessively threatened. He didn't quite yawn, but the indifference seeping into his expression must have set something off in Twilight's head. A wordless cry of anger ripped from her mouth as she slammed a hoof into the table, rocking it slightly.
The yell hadn't been that loud, and she wasn't that strong, but what did catch his eye and set his heart racing a bit faster was the visible smoke that erupted from the ends of her mane. He barely had the forethought to blink owlishly and lean off the table as Twilight panted heavily and rested her own hooves on the edge of the surface.
Had..? Was that..? Unless he was adding hallucinations to his laundry list of deficiencies, the tips of her mane had just caught fire for a moment.
Okay, now he was feeling a bit intimidated. Twilight had just caught fire, and the only consequence seemed to be a shortage of breath. She seemed really winded, actually; as she gasped deeply while leaning heavily on the edge of the table.
He couldn't quite see her face because of the way her bangs hid it, but he was starting to get a bit concerned. It wasn't every day that he saw a mare catch fire, unless his pre-amnesia life was incredible. It would probably be the polite thing to ask if she was okay, even if the thought sent butterflies through his chest.
He bit his lip for a moment as he pondered how to approach the situation, before settling on a simple cautious tone. "Um.. Are you.. alright?"
A set of hooded purple eyes rose to glare at him from underneath the shade of her bangs, and he nearly jerked back in fright. He wasn't afraid of Twilight, but she did know how to look intimidating. With her eyes shaded by her hair like that, she looked like the perfect picture of malice. She continued glaring and gasping at him for a moment, before she managed to breathlessly wheeze out a sentence. "I'm fine."
Despite the hostility edging the obvious tone of finality, she didn't seem to be done yet; as her back hooves gave out under her, and she slumped heavily over the table with her face in her hooves. A muffled, yet undeniably fatigued voice floated out from the confines of the purple cage. "I'm just.... tired."
With Twilight occupying the center stage of the table, he felt compelled to scoot away from her a bit. Not much, just.. enough to have fair distance between them. The extra table between them might save his life if she tried to strangle him for the stupid thing his mind wanted to say next.
He stared at the ceiling in a silent prayer to the moon for a moment, before screwing his eyes shut and leaning away from the volatile fire mare. "Do you..." The words felt heavy in his throat, and a number of curses toward himself floated around his head. "..want to talk about it?"
Each word felt like an eternity on his lips, and he braced for violent impact as soon as the last of them had finished their suicide plunge into the air. As the silence fell painfully over their table, he took a moment to imagine the many ways this could go badly.
Actually, he shut the thought down as quickly as he could. His first scenario had involved Twilight turning into fire and burning him to death, so his imagination maybe wasn't something he should be diving into at the moment.
He had been expecting Twilight to lash out with a hoof and catch him in the jaw by now, but she hadn't actually said anything. That was odd, had she heard him?
He cautiously peeked an eye open to see if Twilight was just winding up to hit him, but instead found something quite different. Instead of a mare with a flaming mane bent on vicious justice, he found Twilight's face resting on top of her hooves, just... staring at him.
Well, glaring might be a better word choice. She was definitely glaring at him with dark bags under her eyes and an unpleasant frown on her face. Whatever cue opening his eyes had triggered, she must have been waiting for it, because a moment later she let out a derisive snort and rolled her eyes.
"Why would I want to talk to you?" The question came out as more of a snarl than a real inquiry, and a similar frown formed on his own face at the show of a different kind of hostility than he'd been expecting. Twilight was far more aggressive than he'd thought, and he was beginning to think it went further than whatever she thought he might have done with Spike.
On that note, should he tell her Spike was just upstairs? It would be the kind thing to do, but he kind of wanted to get to the root of Twilight's animosity first. Other than being somewhat interesting, the hate she directed towards him was refreshing in its transparency; and he vastly preferred the open emotion to the guessing games he'd been forced to play all day.
He could help Twilight talk through her issues, and she could help him unwind before his judgement day. It was practically a win-win.
Twilight was still glaring at him somewhat petulantly, and he could feel scorn edging into his own expression. She was just being so rude. She had marched her way over to his table, yelled at him for taking care of her family member; and then when he'd offered to help, she'd childishly decided to insult him.
He was beginning to remember why he'd held onto the thought that he disliked her. He couldn't really recall exactly what happened when they first met, but he had been reasonably sure it wasn't anything good. Spending time with Spike all day had made him think he'd misjudged her, what with how similar they apparently were; but now he was getting a different feeling.
He hoped Spike would understand, but Twilight was coming off as quite unlikable.
He matched the glare being thrown at him as best he could, and curled his lip as he tried to sound as angry as possible without shouting. Twilight wasn't backing down, so he would have to up the ante. "Well, I don't see anypony else who knows you half as well clamoring to offer!"
As predicted, Twilight's face twisted in confusion at his declaration; and her head shook slightly as she struggled to comprehend what he'd just said. It might have been confusing, but he did know her better than anypony else at the party; just not personally.
Wait, should he count Spike?
"What.. What is that even supposed to-"
"Hey Twilight!"
Twilight had barely begun to fall into his trap of conversation topics when a sudden shout drew them both out of their shared haze of anger. The tension in the air noticeably bled away into the air as they both turned to stare into the blinding smile of a mint-green unicorn trotting happily towards them.
He squinted slightly at the approaching mare as a tickle of memory caught in his head, before it was quickly swept away in a tide of incomprehension. He may have known this mare somehow, but he had no idea where from. It probably didn't matter, since she hadn't even addressed him anyway.
No, she was coming over to see Twilight, who definitely knew her; judging by the immediate groan that tore from her throat as soon as she turned around to see who had called her name. He watched in muted bemusement as Twilight turned and dropped her head into her hooves.
"Hide me..." The anguished moan that floated up from underneath purple hooves made its way to his ears moments before the stranger made her way to the table. He barely had time to ponder what exactly was about to happen before he was looking into a pair of excited golden eyes, moments before they closed in apparent joy as a hoof came up to smack Twilight in the back softly.
A long, rolling peal of throaty laughter rung into his ears, and a two-tone green mane shook wildly as the incredibly excitable mare literally bounced on her hooves. A moment later she was suddenly dropping her butt onto the floor in between them, placing her in somewhat uncomfortably close proximity to him; though he personally thought it was a wise choice to not bring it up and distract her from bugging his aggressor. "Twilight, it's been so long! How are you doing?! What brings you to Ponyville!?"
An amused smile quirked onto his face of its own volition as he watched the loud mare shout questions directly into Twilight's ear. A moment later, it became even harder to hold back a bark of laughter of his own as the very strange mare leaned the entire front half of her body onto the table in a wonderfully mocking imitation of Twilight's position.
He could already make a reasonable assumption that this mare was absolutely delightful, even despite her similarly absolute air of extreme annoyance. He wouldn't like it as much if it was pointed at him, but he was more than happy to watch as long as Twilight was on the receiving end of that expectant stare.
The wide smile she permanently wore on her face was just about everything he needed to know about her personality, but he allowed his eyes to quickly flick down to her cutie mark anyway. He barely caught a glimpse of some sort of stringed instrument before he quickly turned his attention back to the shifting purple hooves hiding Twilight's face.
One hoof raised just enough to expose a tired purple eye, and a quiet mutter that was only barely audible slithered out of the gap. "Hello Lyra..."
The stranger let out a musical giggle in response to Twilight's obvious discomfort, before she turned unexpectedly to match her stare to his. He jolted back in surprise as two wide, golden eyes stared deeply into him, and he barely caught a glimmer of what looked like mischief in their depths. "Hey Light! How're you feeling?"
Her air of annoyance was aimed at him now, and he already didn't like it very much. He flapped his jaw at the strange question for a moment, before a succinct noise of confusion managed to escape the momentary block. What did she even mean? What..?
The stranger, Lyra, once again giggled in response. He was starting to get a little sick of her voice, actually. Her eyes opened to his again, and this time he could definitely place the emotion on her face as mischief. Her rolling valley-girl tone tickled his ears as she flashed him another gleaming smile. "Yeah, I guess that's about right, huh? Guess I shouldn't have asked!"
He barely had time to properly process the numerous oddities being thrown at him before another stranger's voice cut into the air. "Lyra! What are you doing?!"
Chagrin pasted itself onto Lyra's face a moment before she leaned off the table, and impossibly bent backwards to see who was chastising her. Her hindlegs stayed firmly rooted onto the floor, but her entire upper body just... curved. He gaped at the extreme show of dexterity for a moment before turning his head to see a̶̡̗͂́ ̶̠̊͝m̷̫̓̑̇ḁ̷̊̽̊r̵̦͝ͅḙ̶͙̽̎ ť̸̪̓h̷̯͖̩̅ä̶͉́̈͆t̸̥̳̖̣͔͓̼̾̎̽̍͒ ̸̤̪͒̓̄̒͘͠l̸̢̲̙͓̮͓͐͊̀͌̔̕͠ǫ̴͇͎̓ȯ̸̠͉̰͕͎̯̟̈́͛k̴̡̹͙̗͚̼̀̄̎̓̈͜e̶̡̡̖͖̞̫͑d̶̫̊̈́̽̄ ̷̢͗͒͐̉͘͠͠w̸̠̞̠̹̳͍̹͐͋͋e̸͉̺̔̇̆͝í̵͕͎̗̘͇̥̂̿̋̇̐̐r̵̨͔͈̞͊́̓̓͘͝d̵̝͍̅͆l̶̪̻̤͓̤̘̿̅̓̄̀͜͝y̸͓̙̯̓͊̐͝ ̷͙̥̮̣̱̥͛̎̆̕f̵͙͓̤͎̤̫͊̈́̚͠͝ͅâ̸̞̫̩̠̬̣͆͊̍͠m̸̬̙̾̍ͅi̷͎̠̮̐̓͂̽̊͆l̶̮̼̝̫̿̑͂͒̽͝i̶̙͕̲̙̫̰͛̃͂͐̎͜͠ā̷̱͎̍͐̉́̎̿r̷̖͇͇̗̬̋̾͐̍͠ ̴̙͘ ̷̢̭̘̍̄̎͜ ̵̧̨̜̼̾̏̋̃ ̵̛̼̖͚̺̈́͋̉̈́̋ ̸͉̰̽̄͠ ̵̪͝ ̴̝͓̣̋͗͒ ̷̠̘̩͛̐̈̈́̄ ̷̠̼͐́̀ ̵̡̢̥̣̯̜̇̚ ̸̡͎̲͈̌̌͐ ̵̘̈́̆̂͌͝͝ ̸̢̛̣̰̒̿ ̷̙̤̇̅̎̚ ̵̦͉̫̲̭̋̈́͊͐ͅ
p̵͈̜̘͗ę̶̡̜̗̣̗̩͍̳͍͔͉̂̂̔̐̓͐̓̃̕á̶̛̙̭̻͚͍̙̊̇̄̏͋͂͐͊͝͝͝ç̴̨̧̫͉͖̱̮̔̆̊̂͒̐̔̕h̴͍̖̰͖̭̲̀̐̅̿̾̋̾̾̓͂͘̚͝ẙ̸̨̧̞̺̖̦̘̠͖̺̿̆ͅ ̸̛̮̞̘͕̤͙͊͒̾͋̋̈́͆̋̓̀̕͠͝f̴̞̗̮̣͔̦͎̳͓͈͍͒͋̑ͅü̵̧͓̟̪̩̻͍͕̖̫͑͆̐̈͒̒̾̉̀̾̀̚r̷̨̡̗̻̺̯̙̦͍̼̲͉̔͝ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ç̴̡͓̩̫͍̘͕͒̑̈́̓͂̉͋̽̅̇̂̚̕͝ų̴̧̣̩͉͍̭̻̺͎̲̞̠̺̙̽̈͂̇̆̊͆͆̎̆͘͠͝͝r̷̢̯͗͋̽̆l̸̡̧̡͙̬̣̱̤͔̬̙̞͍̍́̂͝ͅy̴̢̞̤͙̭͕̻͔͚̾̃͐̎̋̏̅͌̿̅̏̎̚͝͝ͅ ̵̨̨͕̱̖̮͚̣̓̈́̚m̵̫̪̳͚̭̦̺̮̲̠̺̪̙̈́͗̓ã̵̡̨͇̜͎̬̥͔̻̺͎̯́͑̇̀̾n̸͎̊̐̿̒̀͛͑̉̉̂̋͘͘͠ẹ̴̡̡̞̜͇̥̝̯͕͋̊̽͛̅̋̆̕͜͠͝ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄
̸̯̯̦̭̖̓́̄͗̈͑̔͂̌̈́͒̏͆͝ ̷̡̥̼̺͎͔̝͖̦̱͊̃̂̓̍̌͘ ̸͈̪̯̣̬͙̍̈́̉̃͆ ̸̡̰̻̹̟̬̗͖̮̳̹̂̈́̊̌͊͜͠ ̵̛̛̰͔͚̙̜͙͎͔̤̬̞̝͈̖̲͛́͐͛̓̄͑̽͌͊̽̏̀ͅ ̴̧̧̛̰̖̟̦̗̘̣̦̲͛̏̀̃̄͂̓̏̐̉͊́̕͜ ̷̤̳̇̿̆͒̅̒͂ ̸̢̨̨̡̟̬̫̗͔͕͕̊̃͑̆͋̅̓̆̇ ̵̛̙͚̠͎̘͍͙̥͇͇̜̒͒̓͌̈́͛̑̿̆͘ ̸̢̢͓̺̭̘̲̂̔̔̔͌͛̈́̊͗͘͝͝͝ ̷̢̳̜͉̬͑́͋́̊̚ ̴̡̖͕͎͔͈̀̓̊̀͌ ̸͇̮͎̥̈̅̒̏͆͗̅̑̆͛̀̋͑̓ ̸̨̡̼̳̱͚̩̬̘̘̤̮̰͍̐̍̌̂͒͐̄̈́͑͘ ̵̘͉͕͋͗ ̶̧̢͚̹̣̫͉̭̙̜̦̥͎̩̦͂̈́̈́̅́ ̴̢̧̥͙̪͎͓̲͍̙̹̥̻͈͙́͊͑̋̋̈́̕ ̵̗̩̬͔̲͔̮͚͗̇͜ ̸̧́͐͌ ̷̡͉͚͎͕͎̬͂̄͂̄͛͝ ̶̛̞̻̯̩͕̮̳͎̃̆̌̈́̓͒̅̋̽͜͝͝ͅ ̵̡͍̞͍̰͔̪̥̞͈̟̣̟̟̀̇̐͗͒̍̆͜͝ͅ ̶̱̫̟͉̲͚̞͈͐͒̅͒̽̊͠ ̴̼̬̫̰̝͈̦̘̟̻̙͚̇̽͋͜ͅ ̸̢̢͕̪̹̝͖̲̫̮̻̘̻̯̺͈͛̔̑̍͂̄̈́͗̃͊̇ ̸̡̢̨̦̝͕̗̤͎̭̼̖̲̮͝͝ ̵̨̢̗͉̹̻̖̤̣̺̜̝̓͋̈́̋̿͝͝͝ ̵̛̮͖̲̞͖̠̳̦̠͈͔̱̔̐͒̓̍̉͂̆́̓̈́͘͝͝ ̴̧̣̱͔̭̥̪̬̳̹̺̅̇͋̃̓̊͋̀ ̶̡̨̙̲̙̝͙̭̣͍̮̳̦̣̂͒̇́͜ ̵̡̢̛̫̭͈̹̦̯̫̗̥̲͕̯̓̇̎̈̈̓̊̃̈́̊͜͠ͅ ̸̦͔̤͐̍̎̿̑̈́̀̃̃̆̈̾͝ ̸̡̨̡̺̫̮̖͒̌̃́̀̽̾̒̽͝ t̸̟͆̿̊̊̋̕ř̷̢̛͚̫̝̖̟̖͓̦͇͕̥̃̄̇̾̌̈̌̈́̚y̵̡̤̠͚̼̙̥̠̜̠̝̞̯̯̰̯̒̎͐̋̅̓̈̉͛͋̿͆͒̕̚͝i̵͍̫̹̜̣̬̱̞̒̇̋̑̔͛̏̋̂͂̏̒̊̋͜͠n̵̛̥͇̓̉̔̓̌̔̌g̶̨̨̝̬̞͔̱̤͖͇̘̪̪̥͒́̅̃͌͜ͅ ̴̡̨̖̜̫̘̠͔͓̥̰́̀̈́̒̈́̀̓̍̀͌̾̕͠͝͠ͅṱ̸̨̭̖̰̳̯͚͇͕̹͍͛ở̸̧̙̙̱̠̞͍̭̼͔̱̽̒̈͐͗́̍̑̕ ̸̛͕̞̣̘͎̠͎̆̌̃̅̊̐̓͋̕r̸̨̡̛̮͙̣̱̩̻͎̪̦͉̈́̄̓͗̓̋̿͋̂̈̕e̶̢̩̥̪̘̩̭͉͍͐̈́̑̏̎̔̾͗̏̂͝m̶̧̡̡̛̞͚̭̭̰̬̹̪̠̘̻̋̓͆̄̓̀͒̽͑̐͠ͅe̷̛̬̣̖̝̞͇̤̪̼̩̘̞̳̫͌̉͒̌̆͛̆̒͂̚͝m̸̧̬̝̜̙͙̯̦̼͙̓̑͛ͅb̸͔̼̻͚̗̦̱͔̭̈́̑̌̔̈́̇̔̋̕̕̕ḙ̸̡̬̳̼̞̣͐r̵̢̢̟͙̺̦̰̒̒͗́̚ ̷̨̢̺̰̬̖̝͉̫̗͔̙̖̳̔̈́̒̅̍̇̆̑͜t̵̡̢̨̞̜̥̜͉̭̳̩͈͈͍̤͑͌̓͆͛̆̐̈̑͒̃́͝͝ḥ̴̛̹̦̤̳̙̩̭̈͒͊̔r̴̢̡̫̞̮̲̍͒̋͛̉͆̾̿͒̄̏͒͊̆̊ͅơ̷̡̪͙̥͈̞̠͎̙͌̈́̓̎͌͌́̈͗́͗̀u̷̻͇̤̟̬̟̼̠̬̽̅̈́͌̓̀̄̏͊̀̇̈̓̕g̴̨̡̡̢̭̮͇͕̲̫̤͉͆̒̒̀́́̅̿h̸̲̬͖̱̯̬͐͛̀̿̀̚ ̶̹͖͉̓̓̇̌͊̃̂t̵̢̻̣̺̬͇̗̙͔̞̱̃̀́̋̓̐͆̄͜͝h̶̢̢̞͔̜̼̣̗̗̩̜͉̱̦͐̿́̿͛̊͜ͅe̶̡͔̞̭̟̲̣̥͓̙̒̀̆̈́̅̒̃́ ̴̛̻̭̰͑̃͋̆s̶̯̲̗̙̙̣̣̜̗̥̟̔̐̂̐͑̾̆́́̕͝ẗ̵̛̳̼͑̇͋͘ͅä̶͍̫̭͚̬̭̣̭́̌̇̑̚ͅt̷͇̰͎̻̼̝̭̹̿̎̀̈̈̑̊͗͝į̶̧̨̙̱̼̱̪̣͈͕͓̺̘͖̊̒̈́̒̒̂̅͊̍͊͗͐̓̚͠c̴̢̡͇̣̻̩̯͈͍̦̞̙̟̪͐̉̂̀̿͜ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄
̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄
"̸̛̮͔̭̀͑̇̈́̆͒C̷̘̀͗̄̌̋͊̇̓͜å̷̟̜̿͋n̸̹͓̎͋̋̿͌̃́̾̈̕͘͝͠'̷̛͖͈̻̩͉͍̈́͑̃͐͗̇̎̋̋͌͝t̸͙̗̲̦̀̐̔̆̌̂́͛͋̾̌͘͝͝ ̶̳͙̤̩͓̹̇̇̈́̽͂̕ỉ̶̡̗̝̖͙̟͖̞̘̺͎̈͜͝n̸͎̰̯̙̰͚͋̀̾̄ͅͅt̴̛̲̘͓̀̋̂̏͊̃̇̂̕ę̸̥̬͈͕͒͐̆͒͠r̵̢̡̬̺̙̟̘̬̝̘̣͙̱͕͆̇̈̔́̊̒̎͛̏͂̕͘͜a̵̡̛͓̠̪̭̤̦̥̼̦̥̓̈́̀́̀̋̄̀̋̾͊͗̔̅c̵̡̡̜̗̦͈̳̤̾t̴͇͆͗̈̾̅͆̽̽̈́̅͘ ̵̧̛̛̖̹̭̗̗̼̗̖̟̤̺̐̾͆̋̇̄̍͐̑̚͠w̷̥̱̙̯̖͎̤̥̬̺̬̏́̽͌̽͛̉̋͒͋̊͐̔͝͝i̶̞̝͖͔̗̫̭̤̠̒̍t̴̛̯̩̳̺͉̱͖̘̺̼͖͆̔̔̾̈́̀̊͋̇̽̒̌̈́h̶̩̥͍̥̙̲͂̽̍̅͗̃́̋̀̂̅͑̄̕͘ r̸͚̰͉͚͗͂̋̎͋́̃̓͜ȉ̵͚̍̌͑͗͂͐̆̄̅̍͂͠ͅs̵̡̧̨̫̙̥͔͕̣̞̏̓͌̆k̶̢̛̪͇̩̣̜͈̻͙͍̠̈̈ͅ ̴̡͉͖͖͈̞͖̺̮̺̂̇́̓͂͘ṱ̵̨͉͎͈͍̣̦͓̝̬̹̽́o̸̱̙̭̯̭͓̻̣͚͎͎̲̓ͅơ̸̧͔̯̩̦̼͇̞̠̙͉̙̅̑͑̒́͑̊̑̓̈́̉̾̆̚͘͜ ̶̡̢̨̯͚̦̦͇̘̐̎̈́̓́̏̐̏̍̆̔̐̕͠͝͠h̴̯̞̊í̷̱̣̞̋̒̓̈̃̄̐̈̽̕̚͝͝ģ̷̧̞̺̩̗̤̪̆̅͂ḥ̵̢̧̹̺̺̺̤̼̺͔̠͖̬̹͒̊̐̓̌̊͛̋̍͆́̏̈̀̊̅ͅ"̵̨̢̡͔̲̙̰̋̀̍͜ m̷̧̲̬͔̱̣̬͖͗̓͆̈̃̋͒̏̽͆̄̕̕͝ͅä̷̲̟́͗̅̏̃̾́͒͋͋̈́̇͒́͝͠d̴̛̖̝̜͑̀͆̏̒̄̊͝ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘
ṭ̸͕̠̪̘͈̓̋͛̒̔̏͌̍̋̄̓ẅ̶̢̧̢̛̳̲̲̤͈̭̲̫̪̎́̈̊̋͠i̸̠̿͋͂͌̚͝l̴̛͈̥̭͚̹̗̟̳̩̒̐͜i̶̢̢̨̜͚̣̞͍͉͈̦̿̏̓͗̐͛̓͂̃̆͋́̓ͅg̴̢͎̜̫̦͖͕̣̔̑ḧ̴͈̪͛͋͑͐͐͐̏͒͋̂̄͠ṫ̵̪̗̲̠̈̉̈́͒͋̑ ̵̧̡̝̥̘̥̝͕̞̣̻̓̔l̴̢̨͚̬͕̟͈͇̲̰̖̰̭̀ǫ̴̧̲͈̬͕̻̻̹̫̼̻͇͛̒͊͋̐̋̕ǫ̴̜̤̾͆̾̌̽̐̒̉̌̿̌͝͠͠k̴̛̹͖͕̬̬͕̯̤̉̏̈́̅͆̌̊̌ͅi̶̬͓̲̗̹̗̼̱̤͇̜̤̳͗̌͊̃̑̃͠ͅͅͅn̵̡̮̎̓͜g̶̜̪̾̅̏̒̾̓́̈̂̕͝͝ ̵̡̜̳̙̫̙̰̦͉̰͖̖̯̬̈́̔̿͑́̉͐̆̀̀̄̐͜͜a̵̜̬͖̱͔͕̟̳̺͈̻̠̎̊͊̇͜͝͠t̸̡̡͖̞̩̝̯̰̏̃̃̉͐̈́̒̄̇̇̂̋͗̆̔́ ̴͙̻̭̉̈́̃̾͘̚ͅh̵̡̧̡̛̖̻̹̺̗̹̙͎͚͙̝͚̊̆̽̏̽̍͝i̶̗̥̘͍̊̓͌̇̇̐͌̐͋̚m̶̧̫̙̯̑̈́̉̾͑̍̔͊̆͒̏̄̉̅͐͝ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ą̴̡̬̗̳͈͎͉̱͔̙͙̰̇̈́̈́͆̚̚͜c̵̞̦͈͎̺̜̩̬͙̞̾ͅt̵͖̾̏͑͂̇͂̒̐̈́̾̈́́̕͘͠į̸̬̮͕̻̹̝̖̼͇̣̪̲͈̠̝͊͋̑̍̿̉̎́̚n̴̨̛̛͇͎̜̗̦̞̞̳̱̖̘̣̟̪̥͛̅͊̃̀̈́͑̀͗̉͝͝ǵ̸̡̢̛͕̳̗̹̜̮̞͓͚̺̝̆͗̾͑̔̌̽̐̎̅̿̕͝͝ ̵̡̫̞̗̰̈́̽̽̓̔̓̈́͋̏͘ͅs̵̼͕̲͕͖͛̚͜t̷̛̛̯̝̱̟̗̺͈̠̬̬͍̲̝͕͍̃͗̈́́̉̾͜r̶̛̮̯̘̺͓̝̟̯̅͂̏̈͊̊̀̍͒̐͊͐̐̚͘͜â̷̭̪̘̓̃̀͛́̀͂n̶̢͙̣̣̮͚̙̣̔̌̈́̆̈̐̂͜͜g̴̪̝̙͌̈́̾̃́̉͂̊̆͑͗̚͜͝e̸̢̨̨̺͕̦̬̖͓̼̙̒͂͛̀̽͂̍͆̾͂̀̈́̒͝ w̴͈̱̺̟͋̿̌͌̀̀͐̀͜͜â̷͉̮͈̰͋̔̚ŝ̷̨̮̣͖̭̯̘̜͖̲͉͔̩͊̌̓̀̔́͌̋̒̚̚ͅ ̴̡̹̗͎͓̤̙̻̲̦̼͍͌̍̂̑͗͗̌̅̕͘͜͝͝ͅͅh̷̨̢͚̠͈͇̯̞̤̏̔̈́̉̏̀̔́̈́͘͝͝ͅe̶̛͕͓̰̰̟̦͔͛̈́̚ͅ
t̶̨̛̹͕͈̖̠͇͚͂̅̈́̿͋̉̽͋͜ǫ̶̧̬͍̦̫̟̮̬̳̹͓͙̟̰́̽̾͛̇̊õ̴̞̦͎̙̘̠̞̰̺̐̿̓̿̂̄͋̽̔͗͝ ̴̡̧̨̩͈̘̖̙̺͙͎͍͚̀̈́͊̅̉̃̌̍̐͆̄̑͆m̶̠̯͕̼̭̘̎ͅų̴̨̞̫͕͕̮͍̫̥̟͙̄̀̔̒́͛ͅć̴͎͈̗̖̰͔̟̼̦͖̭͚͔̦͍̝̉̄h̸̩̟̬̥̩͎͇̝̟͈͆̂̔̑̔̑̍̃̚ ̷̡̬̻͉̯͚͎͈͔͕̘̠̟̫̉̏͒̂̇͆̾̔̽͌͂͒̄ń̷̡͖̭̦̳̜͎̼͕̱̭͍͓͔̟͂̔̿̎̑̉͌̔̎̈̓̂̌͘͜ơ̵̧̜̫̘̣͎̰̖̏̏͒͗̀́̅̓̇̊̅ỉ̶̛͉̃̿̈́̈́͆̂́̈́̑̈͘̚͠s̴̢̢̲͍͔̳̯̭̲͈̱͎̫͍̓͐͂̽̉͜ͅẻ̴̡̗͓̬̙̲̺̩̤̗̈̎̃̃͋̈́̀̒͐̔̅̔̂̚͘ ḽ̴̨͖̭͔̮̣̞͖̖̍̏̔̎̔̈͝͝ǒ̵̡̭̫͍͍̮͓̠̻ȍ̵̧̨͎̦̲̣͌̈̊k̴̨̧͉̟̣͚̤̺͖͚̟̖̳͚̫̝̅̊́̽̚i̶̬̪̺̇̈̔̒̔͂̄͠͠n̷̯͆̋̾͒̃́͝͠g̷̡̛͚̩͖͇̬͓̰̘͎̼͉͂̿̐̉̈́̿̂̃̋́͂̎̑͝͝ ̷̮̯̯͈͖̱̎̍̓̋̇́͒̅͆̓̐̕a̸͇̮̱̩͉̘̒͆͗ṯ̸̢̧̯͇͔̩̺̹̎̋̃̿͒͌̌͐̈̀̐̕͠͠ ̶̡̺̫̻̹͎̈͛̈́̇̌́́̚̚͜͠͝t̴̼̫̣̐̍̿̃́̀̍̑͠ͅh̶̢̖̹̳̺͓̗̺́͐͐̓͊͆͒̎̃̒͝é̴̛̛̺̺̈̑̊̔̆ moon i̴̞̪̬̲̲͉̞̘͚̪͌̓̈́̉͆̀̀̎̔͑̓̌͐̈́̃͜͜͠n̶̢̬̠͇̭̜͉̙̮̓̒̾́̽̒̓̅͐͑̐͝ͅ ̸̨̧̢̖̗̝̟̮̺̺̪̼̟̟̃t̵͚͓͈̰̤̳̱̥̙̥̭̪͍͖͖́̅̂̀͘͠h̵̛̥̻̥͕̪̍̀̾̾̓̈̂̓̌̇́ė̸̢̳͓͙̟̭̙͚̫̖́̔͑͊̅̾̔ ̵̱͙̭͔̣͎͇̹͎̃́̔̅̆̈́̀͋͐͘͝s̸͚̗̑͐͌͑̀̽̐͋͠k̷̭̩̺̳̟͈͍̙̲̫̑̈́ͅý̶̧̯̹̬̩̟͇̱̹̌
̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ m̵̨̧̯̲͚͖͇̥̬͉͂̽̆͊͊̄̑̃̊̐͗͐̐͘͝e̸̡̜͖͈͍̦̝̳̺̮͇̳̙̺̫̊ḍ̶̩̥̮̄̀͂̋̂̚͝ͅi̴̹̬͐̇̀̋͑͐ċ̴̯̘̪̤̖͉̦̪̤͚̌̕à̷̢̧̧͙̝̮̥͕̮͍̲̔̃̓̎̚͜͝ͅl̷̨̤̞̭̙̜̘̟͚̟̻̭͇̎̇͜ͅ ̴̢̖̮͔͖͔̝̱̭̰̙̓͂͜c̶̰̮͇͇͒o̷͖̥͓̯͔̳͕̥̭̘̹̭͓̝͚̻̊̆̏̋̔̐̈́̂̓͝n̸̡̢̩̬͙̼̩͍̳̝̄̓̽͊̄̄͐̊̾͋͐̔̚͠͝͠d̸̛͕̮̳̏̑͛̂́̅̓́̇̄̍͊͌͌͂i̴̺͈̜̬̥̹̬͔͋̃̉͊͗͂̅͂̽͂͂͠ţ̵̡̼͕͍̺̗̗̥̗̥͙̠̀͑͂͑́̈̊͗͘i̵̢̜̹̦̱̗͇̽͑̎̊͜o̶̭͕͖̺͂̊͋͂̾̍̎͗̈͊̀͌͗̄̏͝ñ̷̢̧͖̼̝͓͙̱̞͓̻͈̰̘͙̥͌̈̆̚ u̴̡̢͎̯̎̒̎̑̀̇̀̌͒̽̓̓̕͘͠n̵̢̦͍̖͔̮͎̤͒̓̓̆̒͊͌͘͜d̴̢̨̮͎̤̘̤̦̼̤̮͔̲͍̒̓̐̌̏̈́͌́͘͝͝͝ḙ̶̣̺̰̮̠̲̫͕̲̟͚͙̈́̄͠r̸̨̡̛̜̙̲̀͌̅͆̆͜͝͠s̵͖͚͙̆́̀̋͒̐̂̃̍͊̚ţ̷̢̫̬̙̹̦͖̭̱͕̖̖̟̃̈́́͌̾͝ą̷̙̹͈̂̋ǹ̷̮̮͓̄̒̓͑̅̂͗̑d̷̨̡͚͎̜͇̩̝̪̤̅̾́͗́̅͌̐̾̿͐̋͜͝͝͠͝ͅ
b̸͇͇̜̮̰͉͕̠͖̳̠̜͍͙̍ȑ̸̨̜̖̣̻͈̑͝i̴̲̱̻͙̋͛̈́̒̾͗͝n̴̢̛͚̖̈͆̈́͊̌́̿ͅĝ̶̢̧̢̬̳̭̲͔͙͑͊͛͑̋̽͂̀͛͊͑̕̚͜͝͝ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ḑ̶̳̮͔̮̻̜͓͍̳͗̉̓̈́̃̂̇r̶̨̛̥̦̗̮̿̉̆͆̇͋̀́̐͂͝͠i̴͇͉͛̆̈́́̒̍́̏͊̈́̍̈́̊̂͠n̸̢͇̥̘̹̠̅k̵̤̝̈̇̇̌̀̎͛́͛̍͋͐̈́̎̊̀ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄
ş̶̞̩̟̖̣̭͔̳̄̈́́ŏ̷̳͇̠̜̫̖͔̩̝͛̎̈͌̈́m̷̨̖͎̪̫̜͔̭̀̏͒̆̃͘e̵̼͚̓́̄́͜t̷̛̝̞͓͆̉͛͋̎̋̾̈́̈́͐͌͒̃͛ͅȋ̵̡͓͓̩̫̬̳͈̃͋̊̿m̷̡̗͈͎͉̘͖̥͎̼̊̇̈́̓̈́̌͘e̴̝͎̗̤̤̺̩͚͙̥͙̰͓͋s̵̢̖͚̗̱͎̮͉̪͇̓̾̒̍̒̂ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ h̶̨̨͓͕̙̭̠͖̥͒̄̂́̏̓ͅe̶͕̬̜̫̞̟͈̪̩͇͔͕̹̟̼̅̆̌́͆͋̊̀̍͐̕͝͝ ̶̛̤̳̺̙̞̭̖͙̮͋̒̽̈́͆̏̑̓́̊͐͗͘͜͝č̸̞̫͉̗̱̫̬̞͎͝o̷̧̨̝̯̙̼̰̼̤͍̟̘̳̩̙̯͌̓̽̍́u̸̡̨̧̯͉̲͇͚̯̬̲̜̺͉̼̺͒́̅͝l̶̛̜̖̞̘̞͓̩̦̫̗̲͔̘͓̠ḑ̸̨̗̞͇̙̰̯̟̻͍̦̭̣̼̒̅͊̾̓͜ s̴̛͖̦͕̜͎̈̈́̐͆͑͌̂͝e̴̡̧̗̹͉͓̼͊́̏̈̉̒̚̚͝ę̴̪̲̻̺̮̫̜̺̩̳̦͊͆̇͗͐͑͑̕ ̸̧̼͕̲̀̍̽͝ ẗ̴̢̨̧̢̛͕͕͈̗̜͍̗́͗̐̓͒̈́̌͠͝h̷̲͔̮̹̤͊͂̉̏́̀̓́̉̐̿̏̓͝ͅr̸̢̧̧̛̥̪͚̻̼̗͔̳̘̻̤̿̂̈́͛̅̽̈́͗͘ͅǫ̴̧̛̪̗̗̝̪̜̯̘͓̈̎͒̇̈́̓̀̂͛͘͘ú̸͈̼̮̏͋̏̀̀͘͝͠ģ̴͎͓̱̻̺͚̹̥̠̑̽͘ͅh̸͈̞͉͇̬̎ͅ
t̸͚̟̂h̵̛̫̮̫͆̂͐̓̾̽̃͊̑͊̅̔͘ͅͅe̶͈̝̹̠̠̹͓̭̬̘̲̲̬̯͗̓̃͐̇ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄ ̵͇̖̈́ ̶̡̙͇̙̬̖͕̽ ̷͖̹̘̔̋͊̔ ̸̢̱̺̘̰̩͉͕̼̔̂̀̎̌͘͠ ̵̨̢͚̞̗͙̱͈͔̈́͒̌͆̿͂̓͜ ̴̛͎̼͉̟͙͇̓͒̉̈́͒̚ ̵̮̹͆̂̿͠ ̶̮̹̜̟̽̐͋̆̅͂̌̈̀͝ ̸̳̦̣̊̌́͗̄̾́̃̇̊͘ ̷̢̪͉̅̎ ̶̧̤̱̻̥̫́̿͆̀͌̆̕͜ ̸̧̧̢̗̻̫̼͔̰͇͓̋̃ ̵̙̩͙͔͚̼̘̺̉̅͜ ̵͔̓̐́͒̓̈́̑ ̶̧̡͈͇̦͕̂̍͆͑ͅ ̶̡̼̘͔͚̺͂͑̉ ̴̟̦͕̲͎̠̔͋̑ͅ ̸̼͋̈͋͛̊̐͆̋ͅ ̶̨̩̼̬͍̥̑ ̴̲͇̠̗͓͒͊̽̊̎̔͑ ̸̗̰̠͚̽̋̀͆̑̃̕̕ ̴̧̧̧̖̱̭̮̥̟͓̲̆̄̾̈́̽́͆ ̴̭͔̠͂͋̎̏̾͐̈́ ̵̙̫͎̰͈̞͖̹̤̝̻͛͑͛̃̌̚̚ ̶̨̼̜͖̂͛̔͑̍̉̚̕ ̷̧̢̻̩̫̥̬̟̗̟̒̔̊͆̍̂̽͛̋̇͝ ̸̻̐̏̓̈́͠ ̸̢̼͚̝͓̯̯̺̈̓͐͝͝ ̴̠̯͙̼̥̰̰͔̠̦̗̍͑̃̈̓̿͘͠ ̵̨̞̭͓̑͐̀ ̸̨̥̺̗̰̯͙̅͘ ̸̠̙̹̺͈̝̣̦̭̻̙̈̔̎̎͑͘ ̷͓̭̘̠̝̥͚̪͛̀̊̄
l̸̢͇̜̯͎̹̩͂̽̉̇̾̽̒́́ì̵̫̫̬̱̞̰̹̌̒̔̈́͋̈̉̀́̅͐̕͠ë̶͚̟͇̲̤́̓̑s̸̨̩͔̳̼͕̪̥͍͔̈́̀̅
Yeah, so, remember that thing I said about keeping chapter length down? Okay, that's good, at least one of us does.
Yeah, I wrote too much again; and it's absolutely my own fault. Instead of keeping a steady linear pace through the chapter, I constantly went back and fleshed out just about every scene when I should have been finishing it up and progressing the story. As a consequence, the chapter got to be about 7.5k words long, and I found myself majorly stalling in creativity.
So, I decided to cut this overplayed nonsense down; leaving us with a bit of a cliffhanger! 
There are certain parts about this chapter that I don't feel too great about, so if you see something off: then know that I don't think this is one of my best works, either. Actually, scratch that, there's very little I enjoy about this chapter.
Now, as a result of that whole 'lost creativity' thing, I'm not feeling too great about writing atm! Which means that I don't know what to put for the rest of this AN! Which means I'm just going to end it here, with a simple apology for the rising number of people getting antsy about the pacing!
I promise, I'm going to put us on a fast track to the plot from here on out! I can't make any promises regarding my actual writing speed, but the story itself is done with dragging its feet! hooves
So... see you later! Hope you found some kind of enjoyment in this chapter! so is that corrupt text thing cool or am i just edgy
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Remember, hooves are the equivalent of toenails, so dragging your feet when you have them is possible but even more dramatic than it is for humans.
I decoded the last part, sorry if there are some missing words or mistranslations
So I put that text through a text unfucker
For your pleasure:
It seems that the night is fast approaching.
The corrupt text does get across that "LightFlow.exe has performed an illegal operation and will be shut down."
Btw, the website's auto-reader can still read the text behind that, for anyone who's curious.
I wonder what's happened to Light Flow from the others perspective, has he just stopped responding? Collapsed and had a seizure? Or maybe he's gotten possessed, we'll find out, in the next episode of Dragon Ball Z!
I don't like it when people take visual gags and use them seriously.
It's a book! There can't be any visual gags. Especially taken seriously. Or you will say next that Pinkie can transform into giant flying head? Or Fluttershy can teleport?
On the other note, I find it all extremely boring. Nothing interesting is happening for several chapters already, basically 3-4 paragraphs of useful sentences, and just retelling of the show without anything useful or new added.
I'm seriously tired of waiting for something to happen, and I don't have any more patience left.
Yes, I get it. He is messed up in the head, he is subconsciously guided to hide his condition, he is getting districted and kept away while Nightmare Moon is preparing to escape. He is acting SUS. How long are you going to drag it on? It won't be that big of deal if you updated regularly, but when you wait for half a month to get a chapter, that brings nothing new, and just bores you, you will not be happy.
10956192
warning: wall of text incoming because someone is an emotional schmuck who gets invested easily
also i accidentally posted this twice sorry
All valid criticisms that I really almost completely agree with, but I offer a counterpoint because my only emotional defense is humor and satire.
Instead of speeding up the story, what if I slow it down instead?
Next chapter: 10 thousand words of Light staring at a wall and giving a dull summary of every chapter since he got amnesia.
But yeah, If I'm being forced to show you my emotions; I still don't really know what to tell you? I know very well how boring the last couple chapters are; since I wrote them and all. If you think it's not great to read, then just think of how it was to write. Is it any real wonder why I can't find motivation these days?
By now, you're either completely disinterested or you're waiting to say something like: 'Well then, just make stuff more interesting you obtuse dunderfuck.' And you would be right to say that; my chapters are definitely suffering from a critical lack of anything interesting because I'm going through yet another severe dry spell in passion.
I can hear you again for the sake of covering my bases and seeming smart and or witty: 'Oh big surprise, this douche is having another 'dry spell'. More like slacking off, probably.' Yeah, yeah; that's nothing I haven't already just told myself.
Can you tell yet that I'm not quite that fond of your somewhat unnecessarily hostile tone? I have one too, but at least mine is somewhat justified or at least excused by my self-awareness and whatnot. maybe that was too holier than thou, i'll tone it back, sorry in advance if i'm being a jerk
As the author, I obviously have complete control over the story's flow; though that doesn't really mean a lot to me personally. If we're talking about what I want, then we're talking about skipping past the rest of this arc and getting to the good stuff; because I'm long since past boring myself to big ol' bored tears. The issue is: I'm a complete slave to the whims of narrative cohesion and my own passing interests. I've set us on the path to long boring segments filled with long boring monologues about long boring topics that we've heard before because it's on theme, and it's what makes sense for the character.
Light thinks a lot, and amnesiac Light panics a lot; that's just how it is. Do I like it? Not especially, but at this point it's a matter of grinning through the pain.
tl;dr You're justified in everything you just said, but I'm also the guy writing the story. I greatly appreciate your likely arduous trek through 120k samey horse words of my unfortunate design, but this might be a good time to jump ship if you're having regrets. Not to certifiably say that this is the new norm for the story or that this particular segment is going to last too much longer; but It's going to be at least two more chapters until anything 'interesting' happens.
On that note, I'm going to shift into a totally optional rant about subjectivity and how it was kind of rude to use definite possessive pronouns. Actually, I don't like making a fuss, so that'll really be it! Your opinions are your opinions, some people might enjoy this kind of storytelling, and using a definite 'you' when talking about an audience is the kind of assumption that makes me somewhat uncomfortable when combined with all those negative connotations.
if i call myself a hypocritical asshole making tryhard assertions for no reason, can i circumvent a scathing reply? will all this lampshading require a callout? am i being too cheeky? am i the bad person here?
10956192
Yeah, I am also getting tired of waiting for something to happen. Now something might have just happened, but we have no frame of reference for what. So it's either wait for the next chapter to see if something has actually happened, or to just give up on the story and move on.
Paragraph after paragraph of rambling with no point or use got annoying after the first chapter. We're now on chapter... what? 10? Half of the story has been dedicated to this single plotline so far. 60,000 words.
10956238
If the narrative is so restrictive, then shift the PoV. We've seen how fucked up Light is, so give us someone else's perspective. Show us his weird behavior on the outside. For gods sake, if this is so horrible, then you have to change it up.
10956453
Dear god, you're right. I've set myself up perfectly to cut away from every part I've been dreading while still staying on relative theme and sticking to a nearly cohesive narrative.
Your comment may have had a harsh, disapproving tone that provided me enough anxiety to prevent me from sleeping properly tonight; but you've also delivered a great
cop-outliterary device to help me recover from running my story into the ground.Thank you very much kind internet creature, and now please excuse me as I do my best Light Flow impression and desperately try to forget the many mistakes I've made with the last thirty or so thousand words.
I was really hoping for more Twilight interactions this chapter. They have similar talent so its inevitable that they begin to get along at some level.
10956238
Okay, dude, first of all, if you yourself don't like the story, they you doing something wrong. And if you don't like, how are we supposed to?
I would rather give you enough time to get through the lack of inspiration, and wait until you ready to write then have you sqeeze out something that doesn't matter anyways.
Besides, didn't I tell you that you imagine people think way to hostile? No one is angry at you, or calling you names, I personally just disappointed and bored. And by saying that out loud I hope that you will take notice. But if you already know it, well it's just sad.
If I didn't care about the story, I wouldn't have written more then a single sentence.
Don't write for the sake of writing; Writer should be the one who likes the story the most. If you don't, then take a break or rewrite it. There is a lot of stuff that can be fixed or adjusted or taken smarter. You changed flow several times - make it consistent, take into consideration what you came up with later.
They're already getting along swimmingly I see.
I'm not gonna try and hit the Zalgo. Changeling bon bon maybe?
I did see "peach" in there.
Also something appears to be going down in the comments. So.
10956238
Somewhat a shame you cant be hugged through the internet.
I like your story. For all that I cant and dont really want to write an essay about it. Get some Zzzs and try not to do anything drastic alright? I liked a lot of stuff on the last 30,000 words.
hombre, quiero saber exactamente como es que ustedes, gringos, hacen ese tipo de cosas
It's pretty clear that Celestia is ultimately responsible for the mind screw, which is a pretty dick move. I hope Light doesn't just forgive her immediately and sweep it under the rug when he finds out.
Also, I can't wait until this amnesia arc is over. It's dragging too long. Whenever Light is having his paragraphs of freakout I just skip them at this point.
11418029
I'm gonna level with you here, 'cause I like you, and I wouldn't wish half of the things I write on my most sincere enemies- some of which I may have made in the process of writing.
Narratively, I'm very proud of the things I wrote during the amnesia arc. The pure aspects of story and prose I achieved were frankly astonishing considering I suck big time at writing.
From a reader's point of view, it all kinda sucks. Even I have trouble reading it a year into the future.
I'm not gonna tell you to bow out now- 'cause I've been bit by doing that before- but I do wanna say again that my story's slow. I don't think I've ever read a story as slow as mine. We are talking absolute glacial speeds. Pedestrians are passing my story on the sidewalk.
So, adjust your expectations! There are many more horsewords approaching at very slow speeds! Invest in the characters, 'cause all other stocks are falling to incalculably low levels!