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... foot steps echo against marble walls. I am perfectly aware that all eyes are on me. Clop clop clop. It was apparently not such a bright idea to wear pumps. Did I think that if I was taller and cleaner in appearance somehow death would look away? I'd made a pact with the devil, and indulged in his offerings to me. Mortality, oddly enough, has no concept of it's own fragility, and death, at the time, had seemed like a myth. The kind of thing that touches the sick, the weak, and the unfortunate. How could I put myself into one of those desciptive tombs?...
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