INK Rescript #4

She just couldn’t live seeing death all around her. Hopeless, inevitable death. She couldn’t keep looking at the faces of neighbours, friends, family, and seeing death in them.

She couldn’t keep locking herself in the dark to stop seeing it. Couldn’t keep hearing the screams, the gunfire, the pleas for help, the mad laughter.

Eventually her depression and despair would turn to madness. And she feared, actively feared, that the madness would turn her into one of the vicious who hunted others and caused more death.

Better to end it… just end it and go into the quiet. She wondered what they would find in her blood. Something tainted with this horrible ability?

Cursed blood.

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