Liko went to the cemetery, but neither meditated on memories, nor had a heart-to-heart chat with the gravestone. He managed, "Hey, kid," then crouched on his heels and hung his cheekbones over his thumbs, fingers at his hairline. He didn't weep, didn't speak, didn't move. Barely thinking, he balanced, [...] and breathed through the fire in his throat and the break in his heart.
ππ
— Dec 27, 2025 01:56PM
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