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No. 1193
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It was the other way around for me. Everything changed, and then I met my "waifu," or more accurately, just the waif.
The first time I snapped at her, those pretty eyes damn near popped out of her head, which is when I realized she wasn't another waking phantom of my tortured mind. What she truly is I can't say, nor do I much care. I'm spinning deeper into this abyss, and the waking nightmares grow ever more fantastically vile, but this strange girl who meekly dogs my steps is the one constant I can cling to.
Perhaps she was sent to watch, when they realized I wasn't afraid. Well, let her watch. It's all she's good for, anyways. Always silent. Her feelings for me are the merest of shades, dreams of a phantom. As I lay fading on a cold floor, groping for my KA-BAR, I saw her kneeling, hands bunched in white-knuckled fists. And once, I might have half-woken to feel her stroking my hair gently.
This is nothing, and everything. These days, her love is the only dream that is entirely my own.
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