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Maybe the hazy eon of small peace will be worth another death.

Maybe the hazy eon of small peace will be worth another death.

Maybe the hazy eon of small peace will be worth another death.

“Satoru,” one says, so familiar, and he knows that voice, hates that voice, “open your eyes.” He loves that voice.

He can’t remember how to live, when he’s spent his whole life wanting to die.