princessos-blog

[princessos-blog]

Reader that always cries/tries not to cry. As someone who has been yelled at for crying and who is extra sensitive, I live for the angst where the reader struggles to hold their emotions followed by all the fluff, comfort and reassurance.

-

"But-it feels like you don't care Bucky!"

"I told you I was busy y/n!" Bucky sighed out of frustration, running his fingers through his short locks, "You know how stressful this job is, it's not like I cancel our dates on purpose"

You couldn't help but feel a tinge of neglect as you stood in front of your boyfriend, fully dressed for your date only for him to text you that it would have to happen another night.

Again.

"I haven't seen you in weeks. You go for days without answering your phone. I only call you because I care about you, I love you" You could already feel the warning signs making their way throughout your body. Your throat felt tight making it difficult to swallow. Your eyes stung with fresh tears. Your nose felt warm, threatening to sniffle.

"Yeah I get that," He scoffed, shaking his head in annoyance. "I just don't know if you understand how much I have to do in a day"

"I'm not stupid Bucky" Your voice started to crack, feeling worse for adding to his stress as your own emotions started to crumble. You wanted to hold it together, to have one conversation where you didn't break but-

"But you don't get it- c'mon y/n, don't cry" Bucky bit out, the words coming out harsher than he intended, not realizing how much it would upset you. You bit your lip harder to keep your chin from trembling, fat tears threatening to slip out the more you tried to blink them back. Your throat ached, constricting your neck more and more.

"I-I'm s-sorry" You choked out, hating yourself even more for getting emotional, the frustration evident in your voice. You harshly wiped your face between hiccups, letting out a frustrated groan. Bucky blinked, his previous annoyance replaced with regret seeing how upset you were with yourself.

"I-I don't mean t-to cry" You dug your nails into your palms to try and get yourself together, your body betraying you wish a fresh wave of tears only making you feel worse, "I don't want to!"

Your body trembled, your arms moving to hug yourself in an attempt to hide away, squeezing yourself together to gain some semblance of control. Bucky cursed internally, now pissed at himself for losing his patience when you were only upset for not being able to see him. You never asked for much; the only thing you wanted was to spend time with him and recently he hadn't been doing that either.

"Hey-no-baby shhh, c'mere" Bucky pulled you to his chest, pressing his lips to the top of your head, rubbing your back up and down to calm your labored breaths. "Its not you angel, its me. I'm the one whose sorry, I shouldn't have spoken like that to you or said that, I'm sorry sweet girl"

"I-c-cry for-for everything" Your voice cracked into a defeated sob, embarrassed over how easily you broke down to tears, a new wave streaming down your face, wetting the front of his Henley. Bucky picked you up in his arms, carrying you over to bed where he could place you in his lap, cradling you to his body. "I h-hate it"

"My sweet, sensitive baby" Bucky cooed as he continued to cuddle you, rocking you in his arms while you got your breathing under control. "I'm sorry babygirl"

"I just missed you" You sniffled, clutching onto his dogtags while he kissed your temple repeatedly, stroking your hair.

"You have every right to be upset. I should be lucky my girl loves me so much, you don't even ask for a lot. I'm sorry I've been neglecting and cancelling on you so much, m'gonna take some time off so I can love on you properly"

You smiled into his chest, your body finally starting to relax, following the rise and fall of his chest.

"I'm sorry I cry so much- Bucky tipped your face up, pressing his lips against yours to stop your rambling.

"No, you cry as much as you want with me, I love that about you, okay?" He looked at your sincerely, meaning every word.

"But-

"You cry because you care. I love that you care so much. I love that cute little animal videos make you emotional. I love how deeply you feel for others. Fuck, I love how much you love me. I'll never meet anyone else who loves and cares for others the way you do. Don't ever change baby, you cry all you want"

You let out a small sniffle at his words making him chuckle, swiping his thumb across your cheek to wipe the tear the slipped out.

"What if it annoys you" you pouted while Bucky playfully pondered your question, pecking your lips again.

"Hmm, then you send Steve to beat me up. I promise he'll run at the chance at any given moment. Call Sam in too and get comfy with those fuzzy peaches you love so much"

"You sure?"

"I'm sure, doll" Bucky whispered, settling you under the covers with your head on his chest, planning to spend the rest of the day cuddling in bed. "Very sure"

[princessos-blog]

Reader that always cries/tries not to cry. As someone who has been yelled at for crying and who is extra sensitive, I live for the angst where the reader struggles to hold their emotions followed by all the fluff, comfort and reassurance.

-

"But-it feels like you don't care Bucky!"

"I told you I was busy y/n!" Bucky sighed out of frustration, running his fingers through his short locks, "You know how stressful this job is, it's not like I cancel our dates on purpose"

You couldn't help but feel a tinge of neglect as you stood in front of your boyfriend, fully dressed for your date only for him to text you that it would have to happen another night.

Again.

"I haven't seen you in weeks. You go for days without answering your phone. I only call you because I care about you, I love you" You could already feel the warning signs making their way throughout your body. Your throat felt tight making it difficult to swallow. Your eyes stung with fresh tears. Your nose felt warm, threatening to sniffle.

"Yeah I get that," He scoffed, shaking his head in annoyance. "I just don't know if you understand how much I have to do in a day"

"I'm not stupid Bucky" Your voice started to crack, feeling worse for adding to his stress as your own emotions started to crumble. You wanted to hold it together, to have one conversation where you didn't break but-

"But you don't get it- c'mon y/n, don't cry" Bucky bit out, the words coming out harsher than he intended, not realizing how much it would upset you. You bit your lip harder to keep your chin from trembling, fat tears threatening to slip out the more you tried to blink them back. Your throat ached, constricting your neck more and more.

"I-I'm s-sorry" You choked out, hating yourself even more for getting emotional, the frustration evident in your voice. You harshly wiped your face between hiccups, letting out a frustrated groan. Bucky blinked, his previous annoyance replaced with regret seeing how upset you were with yourself.

"I-I don't mean t-to cry" You dug your nails into your palms to try and get yourself together, your body betraying you wish a fresh wave of tears only making you feel worse, "I don't want to!"

Your body trembled, your arms moving to hug yourself in an attempt to hide away, squeezing yourself together to gain some semblance of control. Bucky cursed internally, now pissed at himself for losing his patience when you were only upset for not being able to see him. You never asked for much; the only thing you wanted was to spend time with him and recently he hadn't been doing that either.

"Hey-no-baby shhh, c'mere" Bucky pulled you to his chest, pressing his lips to the top of your head, rubbing your back up and down to calm your labored breaths. "Its not you angel, its me. I'm the one whose sorry, I shouldn't have spoken like that to you or said that, I'm sorry sweet girl"

"I-c-cry for-for everything" Your voice cracked into a defeated sob, embarrassed over how easily you broke down to tears, a new wave streaming down your face, wetting the front of his Henley. Bucky picked you up in his arms, carrying you over to bed where he could place you in his lap, cradling you to his body. "I h-hate it"

"My sweet, sensitive baby" Bucky cooed as he continued to cuddle you, rocking you in his arms while you got your breathing under control. "I'm sorry babygirl"

"I just missed you" You sniffled, clutching onto his dogtags while he kissed your temple repeatedly, stroking your hair.

"You have every right to be upset. I should be lucky my girl loves me so much, you don't even ask for a lot. I'm sorry I've been neglecting and cancelling on you so much, m'gonna take some time off so I can love on you properly"

You smiled into his chest, your body finally starting to relax, following the rise and fall of his chest.

"I'm sorry I cry so much- Bucky tipped your face up, pressing his lips against yours to stop your rambling.

"No, you cry as much as you want with me, I love that about you, okay?" He looked at your sincerely, meaning every word.

"But-

"You cry because you care. I love that you care so much. I love that cute little animal videos make you emotional. I love how deeply you feel for others. Fuck, I love how much you love me. I'll never meet anyone else who loves and cares for others the way you do. Don't ever change baby, you cry all you want"

You let out a small sniffle at his words making him chuckle, swiping his thumb across your cheek to wipe the tear the slipped out.

"What if it annoys you" you pouted while Bucky playfully pondered your question, pecking your lips again.

"Hmm, then you send Steve to beat me up. I promise he'll run at the chance at any given moment. Call Sam in too and get comfy with those fuzzy peaches you love so much"

"You sure?"

"I'm sure, doll" Bucky whispered, settling you under the covers with your head on his chest, planning to spend the rest of the day cuddling in bed. "Very sure"

[princessos-blog]

Also I was thinking about something slightly...darker i guess?? I'm in a very weird headspace rn and this is my therapy

cw: legal age gap, creepy Simon and generaly unsettling behavior, obsessive and possessive Ghost, he's a pushy dick in this and very much a scumbag, he kinda gets off on seeing you helpless

How about reader who got recently kicked out by her shitty parents, 'she's now an adult and needs to start acting like that', except now she's barely in her 20's with little to nothing to her name except her clothes, the little money she managed to save over the years and a job as a waitress in a small café.

Putting together the saving she manages to rent out an apartment that was almost suspiciously cheap, not to mention the shady landlord who only contacted her through the phone but she couldn't just crash at her friend's place forever.

The moment you arrived at the destination you knew why was the place so ridiculously cheap; this build was...something. An old dilapitating apartment building, four stories high with old wooden-framed windows, some of them smashed. Empty beer bottles laid smashed next to the stairs mixing with cigarette butts, graffiti covered the ground floor walls and a very sad looking patch of grass that you think was supposed to be a garden were solemnly staring back at you as if taunting 'come on, try and run'.

Imagine sleazy neighbour Simon, dishonorably discharged from the army and now living in this shithole too, who takes a deep interest in the pretty young thing that moved in recently, almost growling when he first caught your scent; fresh and kinda sweet, feminine and clean. Definitely not the smells that he's accustomed to here: stale cigarettes, the stench of alcohol and wet dirt and fuck knows what else those creepy fuckers are concocting in their holes in here.

You're clearly new to...this. Simon can almost taste it; you were probably kicked out after pa and ma decided they're done with you...But who could throw out a pretty flower like you? Soft, trembling body, wide doe eyes almost brimming with tears of fright, fuck it does things to him.

Simon sure as hell wouldn't mind the company of a soft young woman like you, and he's pretty sure you wouldn't mind being protected and taken care of by a big, strong male like himself, right?

Even if you do, it's not like you have any say in that.

[princessos-blog]

PLSPLSPLSPLS WRITE FOR VENOM I WOULD ACTUALLY COMBUST

I meannn... if you insist.

Mine Tonight

Eddie/Venom x Female Reader

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Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Jealousy/angst, established relationship, dirty talk, size kink, spit kink, dacryphilia, mentions of spanking, some sadism, mentions of oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, monster fucking, mentions of anal sex, mentions of aftercare

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A/N: I would like to apologize to the monster-fucking community for any and all judgement I may have harbored. I get it now. I so get it now.

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Eddie/Venom Masterlist

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He likes it; likes to hear your frantic fucking screams when he shoves himself inside. Likes to hear and see you cry, watching your body take him. Likes when you wrap yourself around him in your shivering human skin only to fall back down when he presses himself to your chest. The way you move is mesmerizing; he likes to see you crumble and fall apart because of him. Because he knows it's him, it's him.

He's consumed by it, his mind forgetting the part of Eddie that keeps him alive. When he's like this, when you're like this, it's only you, only the two of you. You're the only thing that makes him feel alive and worth it because you're his to attack and wreck and fucking ruin. And at the same time to keep. To keep safe and happy and sane.

"V-Venom," You cling to him, or you try to, anyway.

"Venom." It's a soft word, the way it's spoken, the way your croaking voice breaks when he shoves himself in to the hilt.

Eddie gets jealous. He doesn't like seeing Venom like this, but at the same time, he understands. You're not just his, you're theirs.

"Tiny," He growls, his tongue flailing out before falling onto your face, capturing your jaw and licking up the side of your cheek.

There's drool and sweat and cum, all over your face and neck, your body. You can't tell if it's his or Eddie's but it's likely both.

"Tiny, little thing." He says, the words a low vibrational hum through his chest. "And so very good."

His words make you whine, taking the breath from your lungs, or is it the bulk of him throbbing inside? Your eyes shut, head pressing back into the pillows at the top of your bed. Back arching, Venom’s claws curl around your midsection, holding you up, holding you close. You’re fisting the bedsheets, the pleasure he brings overwhelming your body. 

It’s the flop of his tongue on your face again that prompts your lids to flutter, drunken eyes opening to stare up at him. Milky white orbs, the tears in his head that resemble eyes, cloud your vision. The roughness of his tastebuds drag across the skin of your cheek, the tip of his tongue sliding gently across your lips. And while holding his direct gaze, you open your mouth, welcoming it in. And as soon as it is, your mouth closes, sucking on it. 

Again, you can’t help but close your eyes, feeling his thrusts slow to sensual and deep ruts directly into your pelvis. The growl that emanates from him is ungodly, otherworldly, the rumble of it shuttering through your body. 

Some days, Eddie wanted you to himself. Other days, they wanted to share you. And just as often, Venom claimed you for his own. This was one of those times. 

Eddie found himself envious, angry, almost. Even if he allowed his symbiote this time with you, it wasn’t always easy. But he’d be damned to deny it didn’t turn him on. Watching you react to Venom was breathtaking. Sucking on his tongue the same way you’d suck on Eddie’s cock, your body writhing beneath the bulk of the slick monster taking over his body. 

Venom retracts his tongue, nudging the smooth slope of his forehead over your cheek. Lowly, he grumbles, “Eddie misses you…”

Smiling languidly, your hands find the monster’s shoulders, nails dragging hard enough to force another noise from him. “Does he?”

He doesn’t answer you directly; Venom also was not immune to jealousy. “You are mine tonight.”

“I know,” You’re sighing, but a sharp whine is punched from your throat when he snaps his hips against you. “Venom!”

“Say it,” He demands, handling you roughly once again. “Say it to me - say it to Eddie.”

They were both protective over you. And while they were technically one, they sometimes couldn't help but want you to themselves. Truthfully, you loved it, reveled in it. Sometimes, making one of them jealous was exciting. 

Grinning widely, you open your eyes, looking up at your enormous lover. And you know you’re looking at Eddie now. 

“I’m Venom’s tonight.” 

It makes Eddie’s blood boil with rage. You can almost feel it. 

An enormous groan erupts from Venom’s throat, his tongue diving into yours. You feel like you can't even breathe, your body bursting to its limit. And he feels so differently than Eddie. He’s bigger, thicker, veinier. 

You’re gonna fucking break her. Eddie can’t keep himself quiet inside Venom’s head. 

“Good.” Verbally, Venom responds, the word quick to come out. But you whine when his tongue is gone, prompting the dripping wet muscle to slide back into your mouth.

Seeing you give into him like this was incredible, indescribable. Venom loved to hear your cries, loved to feel the slick suck of your cunt when it tried desperately to take him in. After so long, it wasn’t as difficult. Not when he’d licked you raw, not when his tendrils slithered up your stomach to pluck at your nipples. 

You are such a giving thing, such a patient thing, so eager to comply and give Venom what he wants, anything he wants. His size and strength made you wet just from looking at him, how could you not give in? 

At first, your tears were from pain. Sometimes, it really hurts, fucking stings, especially when he’s pounding directly into your body. But it’s not long before that rush of pain turns into sweet, debilitating pleasure. 

He doesn’t mean to, but he scrapes you, his claws digging in enough to just barely draw blood. He’ll lick them later, caress you with his tongue while he holds you in his arms. After you had sex with Venom, your time with him didn’t stop there. He’d stay out long enough to cuddle you, hold you, care for you. He was always so grateful for this special time he got to spend with you, with only you. 

Venom’s drool drips into your face, his tongue slithering out of the hot cavern of your mouth. You’re gasping for air, fisting the bedsheets when he’s too far away to reach. Angling himself downward, the thickness of him splits you apart, his claws holding the bowl of your pelvis up for him. 

“V-Vee,” Your hand reaches out, palm pressing limply against the bulging muscles of Venom’s lower stomach. 

Immediately, an extra tendril is on your hand and curling around your wrist. In the blink of an eye, he’s slamming your hand into the bed and away from his inky skin, his grunts becoming more animalistic. 

“You know better.” Venom hisses, eyes squinting at you. 

The first time he fucked you, he was surprisingly gentle, almost timid. He didn’t want to hurt you. But now? He loves it; he loves leaving marks on you, stretching you wide around the girth of him until you’re crying, licking your cunt until it’s puffy and raw and reveling in the way you scream until your voice is hoarse. 

You’ve been with them long enough to know what to expect. Eddie likes when you’re on all fours, using his dominant hand to press your face into the bed. He’ll spank you if he’s worked up enough, but more often than not, he was fairly gentle, and always passionate. Making you cum was a must for him, whether it was on his cock or his fingers, he didn’t care. And neither did you. But Venom? Venom was… different. After that first time, he was rough, rough like he hated you. It’s always missionary with him, he likes watching your face crumple with pleasure, your body seizing up around his thick waist and pelvis. This way, he could lick you, too, and he loved to lick your face. It was almost like his version of kissing, his version of admiring you in the most feral way. 

But when they’re together, they overwhelm you. Eddie is always between your legs, fucking you brainless while Venom’s tendrils slide between your cheeks. It took a while to open you up back there, but Venom was patient. He always is. And then he’d snake a couple toward your tits,  pinching your nipples while another rubbed your clit. And Eddie would kiss you breathless, swallowing your moans while you laid there, suffocated by the two of them. 

“Oh…” He’s growling, his chest heaving. “Can you hear it? Can you hear it, you little thing?”

“Hm?” You’re whining, gasping when he hisses above you. 

“Listen to it,” And then his tongue is roaming the column of your neck, spit dripping over your open mouth when it retracts. “Your body, it’s opening up for me…”

“Venom,” 

In truth, you’re the light of his life, of their life. It would be meaningless without you. 

“Please.”

“You want it, don’t you?” The wet noise of your colliding sexes continues to fill the air, the loud squelch of your welcoming walls. “Don’t you?”

“Yes!” It comes out as a wail, your back arching up from the bed. Using your dominant hand, you lift it over your head, placing your palm against the headboard. 

Everything feels raw, you’re aching. He’s been ruining you for hours, literal hours, soaking your bed with every ounce of wetness the two of you have. You can feel him in your stomach, you’re sure you can. He’s grown in size since the first time, his head constantly tilting down to watch you stretch. 

After he receives your answer, he’s fucking you like he’s gone mad. Leaning over, he towers above your pliant and sweaty form, slamming himself into the delicate channel between your legs. You’re shocked you’ve been able to withstand him for this long. 

“Venom, baby…” Smoothing your hands over the bulk of his shoulders, the firmness of his back, you coo to him. “Baby…” 

It’s one of his weaknesses, something you like to pull out of your back pocket every now and then. It’s such a simple word, one used commonly in relationships. But to him, it was special. Eddie was always babe, but Venom was baby. 

“Oh…” He’s faltering, breaths rough and right beside your face. “Sweetling…” 

Toward the end, he was always soft with you. When his high finally came, he held you like you were his precious thing, his reason for living. 

At first, you were extremely curious about this, having sex with an alien. How did that work… biologically? But honestly, it’s not much different than any other human. And you suppose that’s because of Eddie. The way Venom cums is generally the same, his white release spilling into you. He has so much more than Eddie, though, so much so that it leaks out from around his member every single time. Sex with Venom was always messy, always, but you really didn’t mind. 

His body shudders above you, the incredible strength of his arms holding you tight. He’s licking your throat again, tongue rolling up to your jaw. He can smell the arousal seeping from your pulse points, and it only makes him cum that much harder. 

He’d only allowed himself release after giving you yours. But one wasn’t enough for him, it had to be at least two, if not three. And he hit that lucky number tonight, his entire pelvis sopping wet from you. 

The white noise ringing in your ears shields you from the incredible groan he releases, his head resting right beside your own. Grinding himself in to the hilt prompts your legs to open almost as wide as they possibly can, your muscles flexing for him. You’re breathing out choked gasps, feeling him knock your cervix whenever he’s like this. 

“Oh my go-od,” 

Venom groans, his body shivering one final time. But he doesn’t leave you, he stays pressed against your body. 

“Mm…” He growls quietly, purring. Turning his head, he knocks his forehead against your jaw; a loving gesture. “Eddie is wondering if you are alright.” And then he’s smiling, chuckling. You smile too, exhaling an airy laugh. The way Venom handled you always made Eddie nervous. 

“Yeah Eddie,” Nodding, your hands find either side of Venom’s face, simply caressing him. “I’m okay.” 

With a refreshing inhale, you express genuinely, “I love you.” 

The connection you have to them can’t be broken, it just can’t. You’ve been with them for too long, you’ve experienced too much. 

“We love you, sweetling.” He’s purring now, the vibration rolling pleasantly through your body. Curling inward, he holds you even closer, his breathing becoming steady. “We do.”

[princessos-blog]

Somnoslut

It's 4am, you're staying over at a friend's place with some other people after a long night out. As things wind down, you head into the extra room to get ready for bed, and it doesn't take you long to pass out once your head hits the pillow. Shortly after, someone else comes in looking for a spot to sleep, a guy you've been interested in for a while. He whispers out your name, and shakes you a bit trying to ask if he can share the bed with you. No response. He tries again, still nothing. Seeing as this is his only other option besides the hardwood floor in the living room, he finishes getting ready and slips into bed with you, trying one more time to wake you up and ask if it's okay, with no success.

After a while laying next to you, he starts thinking about turning over and wrapping his arm around you to get closer. He knows it's probably a bad idea, but you guys have been cuddly before, so it shouldn't be too much of a shock if you woke up, right? As he gets closer under the covers and brings his arm around you, he realizes you aren't wearing any clothes. He hesitates for a moment before leaning into it instead and embracing you, feeling your skin against his. It doesn't take long before his mind is racing with dirty thoughts, he feels himself starting to get hard pressed up against your ass and quickly backs up in case you feel it. You haven't moved since he got in bed with you though, and you're still softly snoring, so he figures maybe it wouldn't hurt to go a bit further.

He starts tracing his fingers over your body, seeing if you react. Nothing. You're still laying on your side facing away from him, so he slowly works his fingers in between your legs, pausing anytime you make a sound or move. They work their way up towards your pussy, closer and closer, until they're spreading you open to circle and probe the entrance. You let out a soft moan, causing him to stop for a moment and imagine what you could be dreaming about. Being touched, being played with, being used…it turns him on even more since you have no idea what's happening to you.

He keeps gently rubbing his finger in circles, adding a bit more pressure until you start to get wet. It covers his finger and makes it easy for him to slide it further up towards your clit. You shift again, another soft moan, so he holds his finger there until he can tell you're still asleep. Then he slowly starts to move, just enough to stimulate you, his finger tensing and releasing to make you feel a throbbing sensation under your clit. He slides his finger back down and starts to push it inside this time. You sleepily moan but he doesn't stop, he keeps going until his finger is all the way in, then he holds it there to see if you wake up.

A minute goes by, two minutes, nothing…so he starts to carefully rub inside you, following the textures with the pad of his fingertip. Over your ridges, along the folds, rocking back and forth and playing with the pressure to test how much he can get away with. Pulling it out, then slowly pushing back in, his fingers are fully exploring you, without you even knowing. He notices how wet you've gotten now between his other fingers, dripping down and spreading all over your thighs which are still sandwiching his hand. It feels so hot all over down there, and he starts to think about how much he wants to shove his cock into you, if you would wake up or not, if he even cares if you do anymore. Your body clearly wants this, it wants to be fucked, it wants to be used.

He pulls his finger out slowly and reaches down to touch himself, covering the end of his shaft with your juices so he can slide in easily. The tip moves to the back of your thighs, and slowly starts to slide between them, towards your now wet and messy cunt. He starts to push inside…causing you to shift your leg a bit and softly moan, and he resists the urge to slam the rest of the way in to make sure you're still asleep instead. It feels so good to slowly push into you, feeling you squeeze around him, as he imagines you dreaming about being fucked while he fills you up. You start to moan more, causing him to stop and wait several more times until he's all the way in, and he holds it there so you can feel his cock twitch and throb inside you.

After a while he starts to move in and out slowly, your moans get a bit louder and happen more often, but that doesn't stop him anymore. He knows you're about to wake up, but it feels too good to stop, and you won't be able to resist in your sleepy daze. He reaches around and covers your mouth one hand, while the other arm wraps around your neck and pulls you against him. He starts to pound into you faster, feeling you start to push back with every thrust as you wake up like a needy little slut who wants more. You don't even know what's happening yet but you want to cum so bad, it's all you were dreaming about and now it's all you're thinking about, isn't it?

He takes his hand off your mouth and starts roughly groping your tits while he's fucking you. Then he reaches down to start rubbing your clit, lightly at first then adding a bit more pressure with every thrust until you finally tip over the edge, holding you tightly against him so he can feel your body squirming against his. As you're cumming, you finally realize the situation, and don't know if it's the fear or pleasure making it feel so good. Your body feels paralyzed and you want to struggle to get away, but at the same time you love everything about it. You have no idea whose hands are all over your body, whose cock is sliding in and out of your pussy, but you're squeezing around it and pulling it back in anyway because it feels so good. You don't want it to stop.

He keeps fucking you with the same rhythm, giving you no breaks, until all you can focus on is the feeling of his cock pumping in and out of you, over and over until your mind goes blank. Your body is moving on its own now, you're curving your back and grinding your ass back against him so he can hit the perfect spot. You don't care anymore, and you have no choice now but to be a good girl and lay there, letting him use you for as long as he wants. That's exactly what you want too though, you're just an obedient little fuckdoll that craves being used.

Over time you hear his breath and moans start to build up by your ear, turning almost feral. He pulls your hips against him with one hand as he pushes in as deep as he can go, causing you to snap out of your trance and let out a cute little yelp from the pain. The other hand wraps around your throat and tightens, and you let out a muffled groan of satisfaction as you feel him throb and pulse inside you again. You feel him start to fill you up from deep inside, and the warmth spreads as he slowly starts to pull out. You feel his cum dripping down your thigh, onto the bed, but you just lay there silently and wait, processing what just happened. Part of you doesn't want to know who it was, and he takes the silence as a chance to grab his clothes and sneak out of the room before being confronted.

The next morning things seem normal to everyone else, but you know one of the guys there used you. You glance around at everyone while they're talking and try to see if you can tell who's guilty, who glances away the fastest or has the hardest time maintaining eye contact. As you look around, the thought of each of them inside you runs through your head. You lock eyes with the guy you're interested in, the one who did it, but you can't tell. Ultimately, you decide there's no way to know for sure, but you secretly hope that whoever it was will be there again next weekend.

[princessos-blog]

crybaby. eren knows how sensitive you are.

and much to eren's amusement, you always tend to get upset over the smallest things, overthinking until tears threaten to leave your eyes. from broken nails to losing your favourite bracelet.

it makes sense for you to be such a crybaby, being a spoilt daddy's girl since the day you were born, you've never really had the misfortune of hearing the word 'no'.

and eren has made no changes to this lifestyle of yours, buying you all the pretty clothes, bags and shoes you ask for, his reward being a sweet thank you and the best blowjob he has ever received.

but that sweet loving girlfriend of his always seems to disappear the minute he utters any other word besides 'yes'. that's when your eyes begin to water and you become extra bratty, turning away and giving him the silent treatment.

but of course eren eventually gives into you, buying the item the next day plus an extra gift.

but today is different, eren's in a bad mood.

his face us set in an angry expression as he mutters to himself, about what seems to be business.

but you, sweet, pretty you, don't seem to take the hint as you find a cute new valentino bag on your phone.

"eren?"

"mhm?"

you show him the bag, "isn't it pretty?"

he simply stares at the bag, chewing the inside of his cheek before he shrugs. "i guess."

you frown at him, usually he agrees with you, following with an 'you want it?'. so you decide to push on.

"it's on sale too."

"that's nice."

now you're really hurt, rolling your eyes before you move to leave the room.

"what's wrong now?" his tone is irritated, his expression looking as if it's been made of stone.

"nothing." you mutter, getting off the bed, eyes slightly blurry, attitude written all over your body language.

"you think that's cute?" he replys, now clearly annoyed.

"whatever, lame ass." you mutter, eyes watering even more, putting on your slippers.

"oh, for real? let me see something."

that's how you end up with your ass in the air, trying to stabilise yourself as eren fucks into you, releasing his anger into the fast, hard strokes he feeds your aching pussy, groaning as his dick fills every inch of you it possibly can, the pleasure of it all resonating deep within your abdomen as you sob and moan.

"you crying?" he mocks, one hand gripping your waist while the other lands hard smacks on the flesh of your ass. his tone is so rough and mean, only adding to the river of tears leaving your eyes.

"why you being so mean?" you whine, head pressing into the silk sheets of your bed. the way he pounds into your cervix feels so good it hurts, his balls slapping against your clit driving your senses into a frenzy.

he lands another smack to your ass, "face up, look at the mirror." he hisses out, letting put grunts of his own from how you clamp into him.

and lo and behold, there you are in your reflection, eyelashes stuck together as mascara runs down your cheeks, lips slightly swollen and in a strong pout as you whine, sew in dishevelled and falling into your face.

"does it hurt, mama?" he asks, grinning sadistically at your reflection, smile growing as you nod.

"good, since you wanna act like a lil bitch and give me attitude like that you can take all of my dick, understand? since you a grown woman."

his words are harsh, his strokes matching his tone perfectly.

"ion give a fuck about that bag." he grunts, accentuating each word with a thrust.

you feel yourself subconsciously move forward with each one, trying to escape him.

"uh-uh, throw that ass back, come here." he pulls you back, pounding your poor pussy even harder than before, causing your whining and sobbing to increase.

"it hurts!" you cry out, toes curling from the overwhelming sensation, eyes squeezing shut.

"yeah? say sorry and I'll be nice again." he hisses, gripping you even harder as he feels your orgasm starting to build up by the way your pussy convulses around him.

"i'm sorry, i'll be good..." you whimper, gripping the sheets as shivers run up and down your spine.

"that's it..." he groans, continuing at his pace before you finally cum, creaming and squirting on his dick as his nut fills you up shortly after.

he catches his breath, slowly pulling out before looking back down at you and the mixture of cum leaking onto the sheets. "you okay, baby?" he asks, rubbing your hips, admiring the handprints on your ass cheeks.

you nod weakly, too fucked out to even think.

"you still not getting that bag."

[princessos-blog]

swipe right — k. bakugo x fem! reader

✮ a/n: i remember seeing a post on here a long time ago about a character making a fake tinder profile for their gf and realizing how many people want her. (if someone knows the OG post please lmk so i can link it!) so now i present to you: bakugo falling to his knees in the middle of your apartment bedroom for the exact same reason.

✮ content/warnings: dubcon, quirkless/college! au, jealousy, possessiveness, breeding, creampie, unprotected sex, cum eating, cunnilingus, overstimulation, praise, biting, bkg gets a little rough with you, and bkg's also a fucking simp but when do I ever write him as being otherwise??

✮ summary: your boyfriend decides to make a fake tinder profile for you just to see how many matches you get. he comes to a realization just how many other people want what’s already his.

✮ word count: 4.2k (i'm so sick)

Bakugo can remember how this all started. In very vivid detail, actually. He remembers because Kaminari had pissed him off so much to the extent that it took him a very substantial amount of effort to refrain from bashing his friend’s face in.

It all started during the last monthly hangout amongst Bakugo and his friends— one day out of the month designated to make sure that they all had time to catch up with one another despite their busy schedules.

Everything was normal, with all of them getting more than enough of their fill of food and alcohol while idly playing video games and talking about random topics to fill in the silence in Kaminari’s living room. 

Perfectly normal, until Denki decided to open his stupid mouth, at least. 

He goes off on a tangent about a trend he saw on social media where someone makes a fake Tinder profile for their partner to see how many matches they’d get. He proceeds to tell Bakugo that he should try doing it, for “funsies,”— to which Bakugo scoffs at. 

“Aren’t you curious, Kacchan?” Kaminari smiles cheekily, wrapping an arm around his blond friend’s shoulders, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Bakugo’s becoming visibly more upset with every passing moment. 

“Your girlfriend is really pretty,” Mina chimes in, sticking her tongue out when Katsuki whips his head to glare at her. “I’m still surprised she’s with a grump like you.” 

Kaminari butts in, “I bet there’s a whole line of guys around the block just waiting for a chance to get with her. I mean, just look at her! Hell, I’d even let her peg m—”

For a moment, Bakugo swears he wants to bash Kaminari’s face into his flatscreen. And for a moment, he lets that impulsive thought win— getting up and grabbing two fistfuls of Denki’s shirt before promptly getting cut off by Kirishima.

“Alright alright,” Kirishima forcibly pries Bakugo off of the other blond, pushing him off to the side. “That’s enough, you two. Kaminari was just messing around. I’ll admit, it wasn’t a good joke, but no need to hurt the guy, okay Bakugo?” 

Kirishima knows that Kaminari wasn’t being that serious, but Kirishima can also admit that what he had to say held some ounce of truth. And Kirishima knows Bakugo well enough to see how your boyfriend tends to be rather skittish and protective with matters concerning you— which is exactly why Eijiro had to stop him before it was too late. He really didn’t feel like preparing for Denki’s funeral or helping hide Katsuki escape from a homicide charge.

And that was that…up until a few minutes ago.

Katsuki’s tried to forget that conversation. But try as he might, his mind betrays him and can’t help but wander back to what Denki said that night.

He trusts you of course, and has complete faith in your relationship. However, he’s curious to a fault, just about perhaps too curious for his own good. 

How badly could this end?

As it turns out, this whole scheme seems to be playing out very poorly. 

Dozens of photos of you— screenshotted from your social media accounts— fill Katsuki’s screen. He had to choose photos you uploaded yourself, because most of his photos of you were either too…suggestive or too domestic (and he wants to be the only one to see you in those moments).

He swipes through “your” profile one last time before clicking “done” to officially put you on the market. And just like that, Bakugo’s met with the faces of men who are nowhere near your level. He goes through the batch of profiles, scrutinizing each one he comes across. He’s (un)surprisingly selective with the ones he chooses to swipe right on— making sure that they’re at least somewhat conventionally attractive. To his surprise (or dread, rather), his phone pings right away with a notification from someone who swiped back. Another ping. A message. 

You free tonight? 

Bakugo scoffs. He looks through the guy’s profile— a picture of him at a party with his arms around some girls, another with him doing a victory pose presumably after hiking, and one with him holding a fish. He feels his mouth curl in disgust, about to give into the urge to reply and give this guy a piece of his mind, before he realizes he’s pretending to be you. He takes a deep breath, closes out of the app, and puts down his phone. 

He’s starting to regret this.

Bakugo’s phone has gone off 15 times in the last hour. Bakugo has also felt the need to strangle some stranger through the phone 15 times in the last hour. Your (read: his) profile has existed for less than 60 minutes, and you already have a whole address book of nobodies trying to link with you and get a quick fuck. 

He feels the familiar beginnings of a headache creeping up the back of his skull. He thinks he might need a drink. Why did he decide to do this again?

In hindsight, he probably should have known this is exactly how it was going to go down. 

What was that saying? Curiosity killed the cat?

Yeah.

He was never great at self-preservation in the first place. So this, the feeling of overwhelming jealousy, frustration, possessiveness brewing up a storm threatening to pour out of every single fiber of Bakugo’s being— was no surprise.

He watches as the numbers at the bottom of his screen increase steadily, before tapping on the star icon. 

‘99+ likes!’ it reads. Over 99 people who saw your profile and thought you were beautiful. Bakugo pales, and he can feel the cold sweat building on the nape of his neck. He grips his phone, knuckles turning white. Is he shaking from anger or nervousness?

Anger because all these guys think they even have the slightest chance with someone as amazing as you. Nervousness because what if you decide that they do? You wouldn’t actually leave him for one of these guys, right? Right?

None of these men would walk through hell and back for you. They don’t know how you like your coffee, the details of your skin care routine, how you like to binge watch shows and talk Katsuki’s ear off about them (not that he ever minded, of course). They don’t know you, not like he does. Katsuki looks at you like you hung the moon. In fact, he’s pretty convinced that you did. Everything good in his life— the warmth, the color, the joy,— is encompassed by you. He’d be damned if he lets some greasy little nobody take that from him. Because the moment Bakugo fell in love with you, you became a part of him— inextricably and indefinitely. Loving you has become so intrinsic to him, that even the mere thought of another person loving you or looking at you the same way he does has him going insane. Not that anyone could love you like he did, though. That thought brings him some comfort, but not for long. 

One last notification he sees sends him spiraling. Bakugo swears that he can see red. That’s when he deletes the app, and throws his poor phone in some random corner of the living room, which is markedly one of the smarter choices he’s made as of late. He marches to your bedroom with a fire burning in his chest. 

He stops short of the door and finds you sitting at the edge of your shared bed, fresh out of the shower. You’re applying lotion, and he watches the cream absorb into your skin wordlessly, in awe at how overwhelmingly beautiful you manage to look in the most prosaic of tasks. For a second, he almost forgets the reason he was upset in the first place.  

Your hair is still damp, water droplets accumulating at the tips, and Katsuki feels his mouth run dry the minute he watches a stray bead fall and make its way down your neck and stop perfectly in the dip of your collarbone. Your very existence is forever etched into his heart, every inch of you carved into his memory, but even still he can never get tired of looking at you. At every angle, in every lighting, he needs to see you in it. You could call him obsessed, but he’d simply laugh and agree, because what’s so wrong with that? Especially if it’s you. 

You’re one to be studied— to be adored, Katsuki thinks, to the greatest capacity. It’s what you deserve. And what better person for that task to fall upon than him?

He finds himself naturally gravitating towards you, his finger tracing the same exact path the water had carved just moments before, wordlessly. You try to pay no mind, but it’s difficult as you realize just how close Bakugo was and how your towel barely manages to cover up your most intimate parts. One wrong move and you’d be exposed. With how things were playing out, and the predatory glint in the blond’s eyes, you don’t think your boyfriend would be too perturbed with your current predicament. 

Katsuki presses a delicate kiss to your forehead before he crouches down. Suddenly, you’re at eye level with one another, his hot breath tickling your lips. You think for a moment he’s going to kiss you so you lean forward, lips waiting. But he merely grazes them before he sucks a deep bruise into the juncture of your neck, biting slightly. 

You’re barely given any time to react before he’s grabbing the hand that’s securing your towel and ripping it away, the offending garment falling off your body. Your flesh prickles with goosebumps as its exposed to the sudden chill.  It’s quickly replaced by the heat of Bakugo’s body as he pushes you lightly, your back hitting the mattress. He crawls on top of you, muscular thighs on either side of your hips, your head placed conveniently between his forearms. He’s trapped you, a nonverbal challenge for you to try and escape. 

You’re a work of art, he thinks, but much more valuable than any pièce de résistance framed in any museum. 

Beautiful, yes, but far too blank for his liking. He wants to ruin you, make you his own personal magnum opus. And so he does. 

He presses a clothed knee against your bare cunt, pressing firmly. His lips continue their assault on your neck, leaving angry purpling bruises in their wake. Rough hands find your breast, and you moan in surprise when he gives both of them a harsh squeeze as he shoves his tongue into your mouth. Katsuki kisses you like a man dying of thirst, hungry for everything you can offer him and more. It’s all too much already, the way he’s kissing you has your mind reeling, and you have to turn your head away for a moment to catch your breath. Katsuki thinks it’s a moment too long without you, so he coaxes you into locking lips with him once more. A wave of mischievousness washes over you, prompting you to take your boyfriend’s lower lip in between your teeth, biting down lightly. 

You feel his breath hitch, before he lets out a low groan as he grinds his clothed dick against your bare wetness. He returns the favor, sucking on your bottom lip before letting it go with a wet pop. He pulls back with a lazy smirk, his lips pursing together to scatter messy kisses down the base of your throat and down your chest, alternating between sucking and biting at the flesh. 

He gives you a good once-over, scanning every surface, committing them to memory. You feel the need to curl into yourself with how intensely those vermillion eyes are piercing into you, memorizing every single curve, scar, freckle like he’s done time and time again. 

He drops down to his knees, broad shoulders bullying their way in between your legs, forcibly prying them open. He grips your hips, fingertips digging into the soft flesh, and drags you down the mattress until your legs are dangling off the bed.

“Jesus, Kats, be more gentle.”

“Shhh. I know you like it when I’m not gentle,” he chuckles. As if to prove a point, he pulls you down even further, giving a harsh bite to your inner thigh. He smiles deviously when you yelp. You try to pull at his hair but his reflexes are too quick, pinning both of your wrists down on either side of you easily. “Besides, this is the perfect height for me to eat you out, dontcha think baby?” 

You want to chastise him for being so crass, so Katsuki, but the words die on the tip of your tongue the minute he gives a sweet, loving kiss to your clit, sucking lightly. 

“You’re mine. I don’t want anyone else seeing you like this except for me.” 

You’re not entirely sure what brought this on, but you find it hard to complain when Bakugo drags his tongue from your throbbing clit to inside your pussy, drinking everything you have to offer. 

Your hands automatically try to find purchase in his blond locks, struggling against the vice grip Katsuki has on your wrists. He decides to take pity on you, loosening his hold so you can slip your hands into his hair, moaning appreciatively when he feels you tug. He rewards you by flicking his tongue on your clit over and over again, just the way you like it. He does it until your moans begin to pitch higher and higher, the same way that they do when you’re close. He doesn’t stop his ministrations even after you cum, riding out your orgasm until your thighs are shaking from overstimulation. He pulls away from you with a loud pop, taking in the sight before him. 

He runs a hand up and down your thigh soothingly. “So fucked out already and we’re barely getting started, baby.”

Your mind is barely processing his words before you feel Katsuki’s erection brush against your stomach, his clothing haphazardly discarded on the floor. He taps the head of his dick against your clit to tease you, a feeling of satisfaction swelling when you cry out from under him.  

He watches in fascination as strings of your arousal cling to him. He positions his length at your entrance, locking eyes with you as you hold your breath in anticipation. Katsuki likes you like this. Needy for him. 

 “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, you know that?” He slips into you with a stuttered groan. 

Katsuki’s always been big. You never get used to the initial stretch, no matter how many times you two fuck. Still, that doesn’t stop him from sliding in with ease from the slick of your last orgasm. It easily coats his cock as he gives a few experimental thrusts. He groans in rapture. How do you manage to feel so good every time? It’s enough to drive him insane. Perhaps he already is. 

“So fucking perfect, no wonder why all those losers want you.” He mutters out the last part, and you’re not sure if you caught that right. 

“What?” He chooses not to respond, and you aren’t given the opportunity to think any further before your legs are thrown over his shoulders, Katsuki’s weight effectively pinning you in place. The stretch knocks all the wind out of your lungs, and all you can do is cling to Katsuki, nails leaving red, angry lines on his well-defined back.

He wastes no time before he starts drilling into you, hips slotting in between your legs perfectly. The position has him pressed against your clit, and your entire body feels like it’s been set ablaze, with Katsuki holding both the power to have it burn even brighter and the ability to extinguish it. And you’re almost there, you can feel your soul slowly ascending, your room filled with hymns of pleasure, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter, threatening to unravel along with your sanity. Katsuki can feel it too— the way you’re squeezing him tighter, how your gasps and moans have climbed just a note higher, how absolutely ruined you look, how he’s responsible for your current state. Which is exactly why he wants to push it even further, he wants to see how much you’ll break for him— and only him. 

Katsuki cuts you off right before you can reach your peak, pulling out but making sure just his tip is inserted. You come to and take a look at your lover and marvel at the sight. He has a crazed look in his eyes. The way he smirks is absolutely wicked. 

You feel distraught— having been so close but having it ripped away from you. You give your boyfriend a petulant pout.

“Katsuki,” you whine, slapping a hand against his sweaty chest, “Why’d you stop? I was so close!”

“Because I didn’t want you to cum yet,” he says simply. “You’ll be good for me, yeah? I’ll give my baby what she deserves, as long as she’s good.” 

You roll your eyes, huffing. That won’t do for him.

As much as he loves seeing you indulge, he feels a need to punish you— at least a little bit to even begin to atone for being the wicked temptress you are. 

“Don’t be a fuckin’ brat,” Bakugo growls, gripping your face with one hand, squishing your cheeks, causing your lips to purse slightly. “I said be good, okay? Wanna take my time with you.” 

There’s a moment of respite, until you sigh in defeat, knowing better than to argue with him lest you wanted to dig your own grave. “‘Kay, ‘ki.”

He flashes you a smile. Obedient, just how he likes you. “Good girl.”

Katsuki draws his hips back, thrusting just enough to fuck his tip into you. He’s teasing. The amount of willpower on his end it takes not to cum is nauseating. 

“You’re so pretty, aren’t you?” he rasps, one hand finding their way around your neck, squeezing just enough to make your head spin. Your hands reflexively grab his wrist. 

All you can manage is a fucked out moan. Katsuki has to resist the urge to coo, about how he’s managed to turn you into a cockdrunk mess in such a short matter of time. The wave of possessiveness that’s been gnawing at the depths of his soul begins to seep out, and he’s reminded of the reason why the two of you are in this position in the first place. 

He gives your throat another squeeze and a rough slap to your clit. “C’mon princess, answer me. Say it.” He slowly adds more and more pressure until your ears grow hot and air feels like a precious commodity. 

“I-i’m pretty,” you manage to gasp out, tears spilling from your lash line as you begin to lose yourself between the space of pleasure and pain. 

Good. Always so pliant for him.

“That’s right, baby,” he concedes. “So fuckin’ beautiful.” He punctuates the last word with a deep thrust, right against that spongy spot that feels so good. You’re so sensitive that it’s enough to send you spiraling into your second orgasm, walls spasming around him uncontrollably. 

Katsuki stills, staving off his own release with all the restraint he can summon. He silently thanks whatever divine forces are out there that he didn’t cum the minute he felt the first clench of your orgasm. 

He grits his teeth as he wills himself to move, trying not to get lost in the wetness that envelops him. You’re babbling now, senseless moans filling Katsuki’s ears like a sweet melody. 

“Kats, please, I’m too sensitive—” You’re shaking now, muscles trembling with every thrust. 

“But I’m not done with you yet,” he says simply, drawing his hips back with a particularly rough thrust. You choke back whatever you were going to say with a loud cry. “What’s your color, baby?”

You take a moment to answer, brain trying to comprehend the words just uttered to you. You look at Katsuki firmly, “Green.”

“Atta girl,” he praises, the drive of his hips beginning to shallow. He’s close, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out. But for you, he tries. “You’re mine, right?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, shivering as goosebumps dance across your skin. 

“Say it,” Katsuki pleads, thrusts growing sloppy by the second. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m all yours, ‘ki.” 

With that, Katsuki’s fate is sealed. He’s left groaning as a flash of pleasure shakes his very soul, filling you up with so much cum that it dribbles onto the mattress even while he’s still inside you. You follow suit, an embarrassingly obscene rhythm of squelching noises fill the silence as you spasm around his dick. He collapses on top of you, but he’s still coherent enough to not dump all his weight on you. 

Your labored breaths fill the room as the two of you come to. Katsuki pulls out of you with a wince, still a bit sensitive. He gives you a peck on the lips before he drags himself down, settling in between your legs much like he was earlier. 

You tense up, “Kats, wait—”

Any and all protests cease the moment Bakugo works his tongue inside of you, slurping lewdly as he drags out the mixture of your cum and his, swallowing. He tries not to stimulate your puffy clit in an attempt to be merciful, but you still feel yourself steadily climbing to what would be your fourth orgasm this session. While the past three have been intense and drowning, this one comes to you in waves, dull pleasure invading your senses as Katsuki continues to eat you out to clean you up. 

He pulls away when you finish, your slick and his saliva coating his chin before he wipes it off on the back of his hand. You stare at his half-hard erection with a half concerned, half quizzical look. “Do you…” you lick your lips, “need help with that? I’m a little sensitive down there  but I could use my mout—”

“Nah, I’m good babe,” he says earnestly, flashing you a smile that he only ever shows around you. “I’ll be back.” With that, your boyfriend leaves the room only to come back with a bottle of water. 

“Drink.” You comply, finishing half the bottle graciously before handing it to him. He downs the rest before he settles next to you on the bed, laying on his side. You mirror him, shifting your body so that you’re both facing each other. 

Katsuki reaches out, finger idly tracing random shapes and lines onto the bare skin on your hip. He has a pensive look on his face, one that he usually doesn’t hold after stolen moments like this; it’s an expression he wears when he’s in deep thought. 

“Baby,” you call out. His eyes snap to yours, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah?”

“Whatcha thinking about?” You watch as a hesitant look flashes across your boyfriend’s face before he shakes his head.

“S’nothin’. Just thinkin’ about us two.” He speaks lightly. It’s always been difficult for him to voice his inner thoughts and feelings, so he tends to beat around the bush. You’ve learned that if you ever want something out of him, you’d have to pry a little. Katsuki always indulges you though. 

“What about us?”

“Do you- do you think you’ll ever get tired of this?” He repeats himself, clearing his throat. The question is followed by a weaker, “...of me?”

You think it’s the most ridiculous question he’s ever asked, because the answer should be obvious. “I’d never get tired of you, Katsuki. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he replies automatically, “but if I ever do anything that upsets you, or if I get too much for you, or if I—” he’s rambling now. Yes, it’s difficult for Katsuki to talk about his feelings, but once you manage to get him to open up, all the walls of his self-made fortress come crashing down and it’s up to you to pick up the pieces. 

“Baby,” you giggle, pressing a kiss to his lips, cupping his sharp jaw with one hand. “Look at me.” And he does— ruby eyes meeting yours. “I love you because you’re you. And I choose to be with you everyday. It’s not always gonna be perfect, no relationship is. But I know that I will always wake up and choose you.” 

You can see the anxiety melt away from Katsuki’s body, shoulders slumping as he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Love you too, sap,” is all he says before he’s pulling you against his chest, squeezing you into a bearhug. You two stay that way until both of you are lulled to sleep. 

You’re laying in bed with Katsuki, both of you dozing off when you hear a slight buzz from your phone on the nightstand. You squint as you try to read the notification, and make out that it’s from your friend.

Denki Kaminari: So did it work?

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing, giving a quick glance over your shoulder to check on your boyfriend— fast asleep. You turn back to your phone, your thumbs making quick work at your keyboard. 

You: Just like I said it would. Thanks Denki :)

Writing belongs to @ryukatters. Please do not share my work on Tiktok.

[princessos-blog]

synopsis: i promise you, plug!armin doesnt gaf about your lil boyfriend…

warnings: smut (mndi thank you!) oral, fingering, slight p in v, backshots, infidelity, drug use, etc.

a/n: sorry if it feels messy or rushed 💔

your boyfriend was a regular customer of armin, and usually you came with your boyfriend when he copped up. you were always sitting pretty passenger side, lace tucked under your bonnet, a little crop top with some underboob showing and shorts that never reached over your ass. your boyfriend always dragged you out of bed at this time of night. if it meant you got to smoke (and see armin) you were going. not to mention that armin was so shameless, dapping your man up while fucking you with those baby blue eyes. you and armin almost never spoke. just a hi here and there but those insta dms was a different story. your nigga didn’t like all that “friendly shit” as he would say. yet just like tonight, there was the occasional time where your boyfriend would go inside of armin’s house real quick to use his bathroom, asking him to watch over you while he went in. as soon as armin heard that door close he was on it. or in other words on you.

“how you been cutie?” he leaned against your man’s car, his tongue swiping over his pink lips, making you feel small under his gaze. he wasn’t he even trying to hide it.

“ask my nigga.”

he groaned. “here you go with this boyfriend shit y/n.”

armin has been tryna get at you for the longest. he never made shit subtle, he made it known that he wanted you. you chose that bum though, every single time. you weren’t innocent either though, you definitely entertained it. “what happened to you and annie?” you asked, pretending to be outta the loop, mikasa already called you up a few days ago to let you know they stopped talking. “y’all was cute or whatever.” you didn’t mean that.

“we would be cuter, when you stop fucking with that lame though. he out here making you look bad bae.” he gagged you a lil bit. your boyfriend was far from perfect, he didn’t know why you chose to stay with him despite his actions. armin would never be so careless with you. “when you gonna match me though?”

“match you? nigga you crazy.” you said all of this with a flirty smile, leaning closer to the window. this man was fine enough to make you forget you had one. your phone buzzed, an incoming text from your man letting you know he was inside catching up with eren, these niggas definitely planned this. eren was playing wingman so armin could talk to you. that was real cute.

“what you doing tomorrow?”

“nothing, why?”

“let me smoke you up,” he heard his front door shut, fixing himself up off of your boyfriends car. “text me, i know you didn’t forget my number sweetheart.” you sure as hell didn’t.

you sat back in your seat, fastening your seatbelt around your body and watching your boyfriend and armin shake hands and hug. that boy was so fucking foul and you hated how much you loved it. you pulled up at his house the next night, shooting your boyfriend a text and saying you were hanging out with mikasa. mikasa already knew to cover for you, not even knowing you were sitting on armins bed, passing a blunt back and forth between the two of you. “he finally let you out the house huh?”

“why you saying it like he keep me trapped or something?” you made yourself comfortable, snuggling up against him. you let him wrap an arm around you, tugging you into his chest as you watched him puff on the blunt.

armin shrugged, reddened eyes staring lowly into yours. “that’s what it seem like. i wouldn’t ever hide a girl like you, pretty as fuck mama. would take you everywhere with me.” he places a kiss to your temple, trailing his soft pink lips farther down and painfully slowly until your fingers are tangled in his messy blonde locks, grinding your princess parts across his face. you were screaming a name other than your boyfriends, it was so wrong, so disgusting of you but fuck did it feel so good. armin felt so fucking good. “min! fuck! you eating this pussy s-so good! right there!”

armin rested his head on your plush thigh, watching his name spill lewdly from your glossed lips. he smirked, knowing he had you right where he wanted. best believe he was gonna make sure you didn’t go back home to your corny ass boyfriend either. he inserted two digits, curling them up against your sweet spot that your man took months to find, hitting you right there until you were creaming around his thick, pretty fingers. “he not fucking you like this is he baby?“

“n–no! ouuu my fucking god!” your back arched off his bed. he dipped back in, eyes still focused on you while he wrapped those lips around your sensitive bud. your body felt like it never did before, all it took was some fingers too.

“that’s right mama, see what happens when you mess with a real one? pussy creaming everywhere for me.”

since armin was that much of an asshole, and you could care less about your relationship, he pulled out his phone, recording you throwing that ass back on his dick. “like that min?” you pushed yourself back, your pussy swallowing his entire length and leaving cutesy white rings at the base, more than you ever left on the nigga who was waiting for you back home.

“go ahead, tell ya boyfriend how much you love this dick.”

“love it so much daddy, wanna cum all over it.”

“oh? daddy? i ain’t even tell her to say that one.”

the moment he hit send your phone was flooded with texts and calls that you sadly couldn’t get to right now, not when armin was laying pipe on you like this. those text messages and spam calls were never answered, instead just a few days later you confirmed all of your now ex boyfriends questions with a little post on the timeline… <3

© kittyarmin 2023. all rights reserved.

[princessos-blog]

love the idea of store owner onyankopon being so needy. all day he’s texting you about everything he wants to do, sending you pictures of his bulge in the grey sweats that he wore with a message saying “come fix it. he missing you”. now you found yourself below the counter of where he checks people out.

his cock out, stuffing your mouth while he rung up the elder old lady as if he wasn’t ready to shut down for the day. he subconsciously began to buck into you, tip hitting the back of your throat making you gag over the pre cum. luckily she didn’t hear, due to the 90’s jams that played throughout the building.

“is that mm a-all?” he would play off his stubble by fixing the fitted cap. he tightly held the black bag kncules growing white, while placing in the carton of milk and six wings. “yes” she would be shuffling through her wallet slowly. ony’s stomach tingling, while his balls pumped hitting your chin.

your moans were sending vibrations throughout him, his patience growing thin but not ever wanting to come off rude. “i-it’s ight. on me” pushing the bag towards her she gave him a smile, with promises to bring him a slice of the cake she was baking.

he took deep breaths watching her walk out of the door, bell ringing and closing behind her. and as soon as she was out of sight, onyankopon grabbed your braided ponytail and began to fuck your mouth roughly.

“thinkin shits so funny” pulling out of your mouth he spit on your tongue then slid back in, balls slapping against your face and spit bubbles making his dick and your face slimy and wet. your pussy rubbed against your underwear, creating a sensation that had your mind dazed.

onyankopon bit his pink lip rubbing the part of his cock that couldn’t fit in your mouth and letting out the many ropes of cum. even pulling out to make sure some covered your face. all you could do was sit in shock. clit pulsing bad, so bad that you needed it to be fixed.

“o-ony” you pouted. he looked around the store finally gaining back enough sense to realize where he was. luckily no one was in the store, tilting his head to his office you got up limping your way there with him behind you. cock still out and back hard for you, ready to help his pretty girl.

[princessos-blog]

Candy Girl [joel miller]

The before and after. Or, Joel fucks his friend's daughter for the first time.

my masterlist!

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ [mdni]

tags/warnings: daddy kink, baker!reader, age gap (20s/40s), (sort of) dbf!joel, daddy dom!joel, soft!joel, angst, self-loathing, waxing poetic about eating pussy, unprotected piv (wrap that shit up like a pastry), creampie, cream pies, dirty talk, pet names, forbidden romance, tw for occasional stylistic omission of quotation marks, moodboard for aesthetics only

word count: ~ 6k

read on ao3!

a/n: hi, all!! please, as always, mind the tags for this fic - it's quite a departure from what i typically write, but daddy joel has set up shop in my brain and he won't leave. if this isn't for you, that's cool - you don't have to read it. i hope you'll be kind, and as always, i hope you enjoy!! xoxo

thank you HUGELY to my dear mya @cavillscurls for the absolutely stunning moodboard!!! i love you and i'm obsessed with you and you're crazy talented 🫶 and thank you endlessly to my parents sam and el @tieronecrush and @northernbluess for being AMAZING betas and always supporting me and my silly fics!!

CANDY GIRL

What have I done, he thinks, parting your dewy folds with two fingers and sliding his tongue through the glistening mess between your thighs, to deserve this?

He certainly can’t think of some good-enough deed to warrant him being here, tucked warmly in this apex, kindling a fire, rubbing his hands over the red of the flame, breathing sighs and gasps and groans into the sweet-smelling flesh of your thighs as if he were destined to arrive here. As if it were a mere quirk of fate, and now everything is gently settling into motion. 

Your fingers are curled in his hair and your chest—bare, smattered with a faint sheen of sweat and reflecting moonlight, illicit—is heaving. You have no instinct to steer him. Your hand knows no guiding push or pull. Your back is bowing off the mattress and your mouth is emitting needy little whines and whimpers and pleas for mercy, more, please, Daddy. 

And he’s acquiescing, toppling slowly into that heady pull of sticky wet warmth between your thighs, and all he can think is that you smell like cherries. 

And you are messy. Fuck, you’re dripping onto his chin as he licks through you, languishing in the prickling taste as if he's guiding his tongue along the salt rim of a glass. His fingers absently dimple your thighs, bruising, forcing them to fall open, part wider, for him. 

Let me in, baby girl. 

Thaaat’s it. My sweet girl. My pretty girl. 

So goddamn beautiful like this. 

You just relax, baby, and let me in. C’mon, now. 

You obey every muffled order like it’s law, letting him shoulder his way between your legs, his hand pressing firm on your belly, pinning you. The answering mewl he hears from your parted lips is the sweet slide of your strawberry icing along his taste buds. He buries his tongue between your wet folds and holds you tighter, dizzied with the smell and the taste and the feel of finally taking what he wants. What you've given him. 

Joel licks self-indulgently through your slit until your pretty cunt is slathered in his spit and glistens with your own juices. When he sees your clit, puffy and fucking needy and shining at him like a goddamn pearl, he licks his lips. 

Look at her. She’s fuckin’ cryin’ for me, baby girl. You need your Daddy to kiss it better? 

You whine, grasping his locks, still never quite urging or pushing, but begging: Daddy, I’ll do anything. Please, I’ll do anything.

Shh, sweetheart. Don’t have to do anything. Just keep ‘em open for me. I’ll make it good. Hear me?

A frantic nod. A reflexive squeeze of the hand on your belly. Eyes, watery and butter-soft in the darkness—wrong, risk—meet his own. 

Yes, Daddy. 

It didn't begin this way. 

Some of the edges are blurred with time. He vaguely recalls the time before you—mornings alone at the breakfast table, intermittent calls to Sarah all the way in College Station, long days on the job site because he had nothing else to come home to—and he’s bitter. It tastes nothing like the after: strawberry icing, vanilla perfume, cherries. 

It must have begun when Chris slapped him on the back after the scaffolding on the Queen Street job was taken down and said, “Couple of us are grabbing coffees at the Morning Star. You should come along, man. Get outta the house.”

The Morning Star. A slightly weathered pink awning and a varnished oak interior, a couple small tables (occupied), a flurry of activity in front of and behind the counter. A glass display case brimming with cakes and croissants and macarons. Glass vases filled with pink roses whose stems have been neatly trimmed. A pretty girl working behind the counter, tending to customers with an irradiating smile, a tender hand, the blinding glint of a bracelet, a pair of earrings, glowing. 

“What can I get for you this morning?” you asked him, like it was some secret spilling from the torso, a heart lurching from its cage, spread out on the ground. 

Petal-pink flowers painted on your fingernails. The aching attentiveness of your stare. Ekphrastic turns of phrases pasted to the wall behind the counter, in the form of a mural, crowd-sourced poems and letters and works of art. Lived-in, loved. The smell of cherries as you approached.

And then it was Chris, clapping Joel on the shoulder, a jolt of good-natured violence turning to torrent as he said, “The usual for me, honey.”

It's been wrong since that moment. Maybe it's been wrong all along. That doesn't stop him from ending up here. And it doesn't stop you from following. 

On your back, in Joel’s bed, your legs spread wide to accommodate his broad shoulders, welcoming the face-warming intrusion of his mouth between your slick folds. Bold in the way you curl your pretty polished fingers in his greying locks—he’s too old, much too old for you—and receptive in your soft moans and your uttered hexes of yesyesyes. 

Bewitched, he flattens his tongue against your pulsing clit and latches his lips around it, his eyes fixed on the way your head falls back, the length of your throat exposed, the evidence of your beating heart laid bare for him in the tremble of your pulse. 

He sucks on your clit until your legs begin to shake, and it’s the telltale squeeze of your thighs around his shoulders, the way you reflexively kick his back with your heel. But he’s pulling away, crushing his nose in the flesh of your thigh, nipping your soft skin, and the cry that leaves your mouth carves a tremor down his spine. 

Your tight little hole flutters with the need to be filled, to take him inside you, to make him wholly yours, the way he already is, the way you can never know. 

So he slides his tongue over your clit and lathers you in his spit and digs his fingertips into your thighs as if he owns you—because he never can. 

The flickering burn of regret and shame soothes when he's between your thighs, sucking your clit into his mouth and making you come so hard that you weep—leg kicking out, shackled by a firm hand around your ankle, back arching, fingers grasping, flexing, at whatever you can touch. You pour into him, molten gold, recast in his likeness, and he doesn't deserve this but he will take it. 

Instinctively, he pushes deeper, lapping your release from your messy hole, his nose pressed against your oversensitive clit—and he can’t resist, has never been able to, gently coaxing you through it, Poor baby, so goddamn needy for Daddy, sweetheart. Taste so fuckin’ sweet.

You’re whining, finally pushing at his head as the pleasure notches too high, and he presses a soft kiss to your clit before dragging his lips up your belly, between your tits, pulling you upright to sit you in his lap. You grin lazily and drop your forehead against his. 

Fuck, he's so proud. He smooths his hand down the crown of your head and skates his fingers down your sweat-slick spine. 

You tired, baby?

You nod, and he nips at your pouting bottom lip.

Hmm, but you ain't a quitter. You can give me another, can't you? You wanna be good for me. 

He whispers it all against the curve of your throat, into your collarbones, fitting his rough palm against your lower back and pulling your body flush to his. He sweats through all his layers and bleeds his warmth into you, but you don't care, grinding down on his lap, sliding your wet pussy along the hard length in his jeans. 

Your hand is slippery at the back of his neck and your eyes are lidded, sleepy, near-black, as you take what you need because you're a greedy girl when it comes down to it, and he's holding your bloody beating heart in his palms. 

I’ll be so good, Daddy. 

He knows. God, he knows—his lips find your temple, hair matted with sweat, and he can feel your tits pressing up against his chest, the erratic melody your heart sings to him, for him, through him. And he doesn’t deserve this.

Gonna need to take me out, baby girl. Go on, now.

You scramble, reaching between your bodies and unbuttoning his jeans, your hand teasing down the waistband of his boxers. Joel groans when you squeeze him, his teeth catching on your earlobe, nibbling from your jaw to your chin. He watches your manicured hand with its pretty pink polish wrap snugly around the base of his cock—you give him a firm, slow stroke, and he curses at the sight of your oh-so eager gaze.

Shit, baby. You're grinding your hips, smearing your wetness along his length, and he kneads your hip like dough while you grasp his shoulder, your head lolling. He bares his teeth, growling and snapping like a dog at the hot, slick slide of your cunt, his eyes a pendulum between the joining of your bodies and the heavy gaze you give him. That’s it, that’s fuckin’ it, take what you need. 

Your legs are trembling, too weak to hold yourself upright, and he knows, as always, exactly what it is you want. 

You’ve always been spoiled, because he’s let it happen. 

“Just a coffee,” he said, his third consecutive day in the Morning Star. “Please.”

He felt the twist of your lips in his ribcage. “I promise we have more than just coffee.”

“‘s good coffee,” he said. “Why spoil a good thing?”

He liked your pale pink hat and apron and the colour of your nails. He liked the way you feathered your fingertips over the till while you waited patiently for orders, the way you dealt so kindly with indecisiveness, the way your heart-shaped pendant glimmered when the sun dipped low in the western sky. 

He only knows it glows like that because you let him stay one night, long after close, to fix the hinge on the front door.

He’d known the Morning Star for a month. He knew it better than he knew you. 

“You don’t have to do this, Joel.”

An anxious shifting of your weight from one foot to the other, an intermittent four-fingered tap of your nails on the countertop, a soft weariness blurring the edges of your irises, as you tried to tell him you were fine, you could call your dad in the morning, please don’t worry about me.

The gentle in-and-out of your chest as you breathed, the golden near-evening light trickling the sun into the whites of your eyes, where it belonged. When you inhaled, he exhaled, the rhythmic pulse of life dancing between you, twirling carelessly on the edge of something neither of you could explain. 

“I wanna help,” he said. “And you should let me.”

You sighed, little of the charging bull and more of the huffing kitten, and his stomach lurched painfully. He wanted to touch you. He wanted to rest his hand at the crown of your head, soothe the tension in your shoulders with a measured press of his fingertips, unearth the blood-flecked bones that heralded emotions he could not yet name. Later, he would know them intimately; later, he would set his teeth in the white marrow and lick the blood from his chops. 

He wanted to ask all of his questions with his fingers, not his mouth, let you answer them the way you saw fit, giving that silent, haptic space the power it needed to pry open the parts of your life he could only guess at. 

But he did not touch you. 

Then, a time firmly lodged in the hazy somewhere of before-and-after, he could only pretend. And he could fix the door. 

Now, he’s gazing in disbelief at the way your tight little hole wrenches open around the weeping tip of his heavy cock, his sweaty body sliding along yours as you hastily shove the buttons of his flannel out of their slits and shuck off his shirt. Skin-to-skin, he feels your pulse ever stronger, licking and sucking at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. His palm is flat between your shoulder blades as he eases you open, helping you take his big cock. 

Daddy…

I know, baby girl, I know. Just a little more. That’s it—keep holdin’ onto me, baby. 

Petting you like a domesticated cat, fitting his fingers in the grooves between your ribs, feeling his own heartbeat settle into the rhythm of yours. You grasp his shoulder, the nape of his neck, your lips parting against his forehead, pressing feverish kisses to the space where his greying curls stick to his skin. 

You can take me, sweet girl. My baby. So good for me—

—the way you always have been.

“When my mom left, she gave the bakery to me.” Guiding the pink icing onto the small fluffy cakes, you moved seamlessly. Second nature, like laying mortar and brick. Your hands were speckled with flour and frosting. 

The vanilla cupcakes, robed in white paper, were a commission for a young girl’s sixth birthday. “Pink was Sarah’s favourite, too,” he’d said when he walked in that morning—perhaps too needy for a reason to connect. Blindly tossing a fishing line into a murky lake. 

But you still glowed when you had beamed up at him: “And now? She still a pink lover?”

“Haven't asked in a while,” he’d said, “but I’d reckon so.”

“She’s smart.” You had slid the black coffee across the counter and placed a cupcake next to it. Joel frowned. 

“What's this?”

You had lifted your brows, your eyes telegraphing a challenge. He had sunk neck-deep into your emboldened gaze. “This is a cupcake.”

“Smartass,” he’d huffed. “You got a reason for givin’ me a cupcake?”

You’d gently pushed them closer to him and given him that blinding, tempting grin, and how could he ever hope to decline you when you looked at him like that? 

“I value your opinion, Joel,” you’d told him, “and if you don’t eat it, you’ll hurt my feelings.”

He'd taken the cupcake and sunk his teeth into its pillowy flesh right there in front of you. 

“And your dad?” asked Joel, on his knees under the counter, replacing the latch on the display door’s hinge. “He help you out a lot?”

 An intrusive figure, playing unwitting God in the budding flower bed, picking petals before they were dead. He would always inflate the distance between you, assert his right to decide who you wanted, dated, fucked—he would always be Joel’s judge and jury. 

The executioner’s axe he’d take up himself. 

You topped off a row of cupcakes with little candied cherries. “He couldn't afford to quit, so I’m running the place. So much for school.”

Joel didn't like that. He didn’t like the way you let it all slide gently down your spine. There was a quiet defiance in the way you spoke—some simmering anger you buried deep in the earth where the colours weren't bright and your heart wasn't so naked. He could feel its veins as if holding it in his palm, the gentle ba-dum, ba-dum of a vulnerable organ so acquainted with disappointment.

“What do you want to study?” he asked. 

“Don’t know. Never got the chance to think about it.”

Never got the chance to find yourself. To learn. To grow. You had simply stepped into another’s body, a ghost, occupied endlessly with the next task and the next and then one more. You should've been spending your early twenties partying and studying and crying your eyes out over idiot boys who didn’t know how good they had it. You shouldn't have to be here, decorating cupcakes for a six-year-old while some old man fixed yet another broken hinge, latch, bulb. 

“I became a dad pretty young,” said Joel. “Thought I was gonna lose my whole life, all my opportunities, not that I had any.”

He did not deserve the empathetic shimmer in your waterline. “Joel, that's not true—”

“But,” he said with a faint groan as he rose, “I got to make a life of my own, with my kid, and I was happy.”

“You were happy?” you said wearily. “You aren't anymore?”

“I’m…”

He caught your eye and felt the plates far beneath his feet dislodge. Quantum shift. You held his gaze as if you were waiting for some truth to crawl from his sockets—like he was your answer. And Joel did not know what to do with that, but if you would keep looking at him this way, he would tell you any false truths you wanted to hear. 

“I’m lonely,” he said at last. Joel reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. A shiver coursed through your heart which lay in his palm, warm crimson blood trickling down his wrists. “And you shouldn't have to be. You’ve got so much life ahead of you, sweetheart.”

Some glacial melt keeled the weight of your head toward him, and your cheek was resting in the pool of his palm. Joel did not care for the hand of God whose fingers would inevitably squeeze the life from whatever this was. The jigsaw fit of your bodies felt so right in this incomprehensible sliver between before and after.

“You're not old, Joel,” you said softly. 

“Too old for you.”

He didn't know why he said it, but it made you smile. 

“You keep lying to me, Mr. Miller, and I’m not going to trust you anymore.” A wry twist of your lips. “You don’t want that, do you?”

Is this flirting? he thought to himself, so fucking out of practice that the concept felt altogether foreign. But you were giving him that foxlike look and his hand was still cupping your cheek and he could feel the flutter of your pulse, and he didn’t want to stop.

“No, baby. I don’t want that.”

Flesh meets flesh. Your hips drop, and you’re sitting so prettily on his cock, the whole of him buried inside you, stretching your capacities, shifting the dichotomy of right and wrong. He stares up at you—lips parted, eyes lidded, heart beating JoelJoelJoel—and pleasure pinballs down each knob of his spine. He’s locked in the tidal push-and-pull with your body, gravity sucking him into you, or sucking you down onto him. It doesn't matter. 

This is the after, and you're drunkenly nudging his nose with yours, trying to kiss him, and he's taking you. Running with the diamond. Sliding his tongue into your mouth, tasting cherries and frosting and giving you a piece of what he's already taken from you. You're sighing and moaning and greedily opening your mouth into him to swallow down your own taste. 

His hand slides up your spine to the sticky nape of your neck as he presses you to him, joined by every joint, every pound of flesh. 

And when he begins to move, to grind up into you and draw gooey, cloying gasps from your mouth, Joel thinks he briefly sees white. 

Jesus. Been waitin’ so goddamn long for this. You're so fuckin’ soft, baby girl. So fuckin’ beautiful. 

His teeth in your throat, around your earlobe, scraping your jaw, pleasure pinching, recapitulating, recovering only to start again. Your name on his tongue, passing from his mouth to yours, the anchor of your hand around his neck, the other on his shoulder, reciprocal re-stabilising. 

He needs you just as much as you need him, and he shows you in the way he pulls you firmly to him, because he cannot bring himself to whisper it into the barely-there space between your bodies.

“Joel, I’m sorry to call you so early, but I’m out of options, and the party starts in two hours, and my delivery guy flaked, and—”

“Honey, slow down. Lemme wake up, okay? I’m comin’ to you.”

“Oh, God, just forget I said anything. Go back to sleep. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

He still remembers the break in your voice, the fragile warble of your resolve cleaving down the middle. He remembers the sting in his own chest like it was his wound, not yours. He was awake before the sun began to climb.

You had to personally drive the cake you’d made for a ten-year-old’s birthday party all the way across town now that your delivery service had fallen through. You didn’t even have a car; you took the bus everywhere, which Joel had chewed his tongue to pieces over for months. Things could happen in the dark. Public transport was no different. But your own father didn’t seem to take issue with it, so how could Joel?

“Don’t say a word,” he told you when you hopped up into his truck and opened your mouth to apologise. “I don’t mind. You know damn well I don’t mind.”

“You should mind,” you said, instinctively picking a piece of lint from his flannel with that miserable little pout on your face. “All I’ve ever done is ask you for things.”

“And if I like doin’ things for you?”

“Then I’ll put you on my payroll,” you countered.

Joel shook his head fondly. You cleaned when you were anxious; grooming and picking at him like a monkey should not have surprised him. “Well, I got a birthday comin’ up, if you wanna thank me.”

“Yeah?” You bit your lip and some of the heaviness sitting on your shoulders lifted, the promise of getting to repay him for his altruism at last eliciting the smile he wanted. “What would you like?”

You take me so well, baby girl. Goddamn meant for me.  

The hot, wet slide of your cunt up and down the length of his steel-hard cock has him doubling over, mouthing sloppily at your tits, sucking and nibbling on your stiff nipples as you cry and whimper: Oh, Daddy, please… fuck, that feels… I can’t—

He’s blinking hard to squeeze the bleeding edges of fantasy away—because this is real, and he cannot know if he will ever have this again. I know you can. You can take me.

A nod, frantic and sick with desire, slips against his temple. I can take it. Please—let me be your good girl. I’m good, good for you. 

I know you are, baby girl. So good for Daddy. 

“Joel!”

He had never heard his own name infused with such thrill. It settled in the pool of his gut and oozed out past his ribs. 

You beckoned him to the counter and placed a steaming mug between the pair of you. The umber liquid sloshed gently in the cup. “It’s a macchiato. And don’t worry”—you caught him before the gash between his brows could deepen worriedly—“it’s nothing like that sugar heap you'll get at a Starbucks. Two shots of espresso, balanced with the milk foam.”

Joel tried to smile, but he was sure it looked more like a grimace. “Milk… foam.”

“I know you're a coffee purist, Joel, but hear me out.” You scurried to the large black boards on the back wall and flipped one over to reveal the bright white writing—stark, vibrant, a proclamation you should’ve had no business making, not when it was so bold as this. 

NEW, it read in a pretty, looping font. THE MILLER. 

His heart leapt to his throat. And there you were, gesturing to the board with his name—Joel’s name—on it, and he was lifting the confounding liquid to his lips. 

Some of the foam accumulated in his moustache as he tentatively sipped and rolled the flavour over his tongue. It wasn't… bad. Not at all. A little too sweet where he preferred the bitter drag of a dark roast. A few too many frills. But—

“It’s good,” he said. Your answering smile decided it for him. He would never go back to black coffee. 

Fuck, baby, that's it. Keep on ridin’ me just like that. Oh, Jesus—

The slow, rhythmic slap of your thighs against his as you lock your arms around his neck and lift yourself up and down on his dick. Your head lolling around your shoulders, your brows drawn up in the middle. The squelch of your creamy cunt as you take him to the hilt and bring your hips down in measured, grinding motions. 

You’re getting yourself off, too, your clit rubbing against the hairs at the base of his cock, and Joel groans, Fuckin’ hell. Christ, that’s good. That’s it, that’s—

“Think I’m gettin’ fat on all these sweets, baby.”

He’d begun to come into the bakery on Saturday mornings, too, even though he didn’t work. With Sarah no longer in Austin and a dreadfully empty house whose groans and creaks only kept him up all hours, he had little to do but work, maintain the lawns, and, well…

Sat together at the table by the window, you shared a leftover slice of rich cherry pie. The awning outside fluttered gently in the breeze, cutlery and ceramic softly colliding as folks indulged in your treats. You beamed at Joel and reached out to swipe some foamed milk from his moustache. 

“I like you this way,” you said, your thumb coasting along his jawline, your eyes like jewels. The pendant on your throat dipped as you swallowed, settling in the hollow like a perching bird. 

Joel, white-knuckling his fork, felt his cock grow hard in his boxers, a heavy weight against his leg. The rapid shuttering of your eyes left him feeling inexplicably panicked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep—”

“No,” said Joel, his hand covering your knee beneath the table. You were wearing a little skirt that day. The silky fabric shifted under the coarse texture of the pads of his fingers and he wondered if the softness would be akin to the flesh of your thighs, your belly, your tits (sitting so pretty in that plain T-shirt: pink, of course). “No, you didn’t… You know I…”

And what could he say?

You know I’ve wanted to slip my hand down each one of those pretty skirts you wear since the first day I saw you. You know I take my cock in my hand and jerk off in the shower and I picture your lips around it. You know you’ve fucking infected me. You know I’m poisoned. You know I ain’t good enough. Youknowyouknowyouknow I can never have you.

“Joel, man, I’ve been calling your cell.”

His hand smacked the underside of the table in its hasty retreat as Chris rounded the corner and clapped Joel on the shoulder. “Hey, kiddo. You mind if I have a bite?”

And because you were so goddamn sweet, because you were a smart girl and knew how to play it cool, you gave your father your fork with a big smile and said, “All yours. I should get back. Thanks for the taste test, Joel.”

Chris easily occupied your seat at the table and Joel, adjusting his pants discreetly, was struck by how wrong this had been. To sit with you, sharing a pie, touching, wanting—

He was fucked. And he didn’t care. He only wanted more. 

“Cowboys kick off next Sunday,” said Chris through a mouthful of baked cherries. The warm, cloying scent reminded Joel of your perfume. “You want to come over for dinner? We’ll order takeout, grab some beers.”

Joel swallowed, rubbing his fingers over his mouth. He felt the phantom touch of your thumb lingering just above his Cupid’s bow. “Yeah, man. Be fun.”

Chris grinned over the pie—now his, no lingers yours and Joel’s. “Hope you don’t mind that I invited my kid, too. She needs the break.”

You’re close, baby. Can fuckin’ feel it. Feel you squeezin’ me.

Thighs trembling, muscles gooey, you struggle to lift yourself up, and it's Joel who scoops you up with a hand on your ass and lies you on your back, never once pulling out. He doesn't think he can. How did the first man to discover fire ever snuff it out?

He bends over you and thrusts deep, punching a sob out of your throat. Joel groans, nipping your chin as you toss your head back, his mouth trailing down the hollow of your throat, latching around one of your sore nipples, already abused by his attention. You rake your fingers through his tousled greying locks and lift your legs up around his hips as he fucks you slow, hard, deep enough that your heart begins to bruise. 

Joel hisses when he feels your fingernails scratching down his spine, between his shoulder blades, pulling him close to you. He dulls his pain in your flesh, open-mouthed kisses soothing the biting bruises he's left on your throat. 

Your cunt rhythmically pulses around his cock and Joel grunts, driving deeper, hand fisting your hair, and Daddy, I’m so close—!

Friday night. Joel’s birthday. 

He’d spent it on the job site, laying brick, then at home, cracking open a cold beer and calling Sarah, whose gift hadn't arrived yet. She sang him “Happy Birthday” from her dorm room and Joel smiled. All things considered, it wasn't a shitty day. Just…

Lonely. 

And you—

You were at his door at ten o’clock, shrouded in night in a way he'd never seen you. Not dressed in pink but black: sweatpants and a tight little tank top that made him swallow his tongue. You were holding a goddamn cake. 

You'd had a stressful day. He could tell. Eyes a little sunken, shoulders a little rounded, but you were still smiling, still holding up that cake—chocolate, circled with candied cherries, of course—and singing a weary “Surprise!”

Joel laughed—in shock, maybe—and rubbed his hand over his beard. “Jesus, baby,” he said. “C’mon in; it’s cold out.”

He helped you secure the cake in the refrigerator and offered you dinner: leftover pad thai and a beer. You accepted the former with a grumbling stomach and politely declined the latter. Of course, you were a wine girl. 

“I’m sorry it’s so late,” you told him, sitting across the couch while reruns of Happy Days idly played on the television. “Shit goes down at the Morning Star when you're not there.”

Joel shook his head. “I run a tight ship. You doin’ okay?”

“I’m strung-out, Joel, as ever. But fine.” Your conciliatory smile was so fucking cheeky he had half a mind to put you over his knee. “I hope your birthday wasn't a disappointment.”

“Couldn't have been,” he said. “You brought me a cake.”

You beamed. And the cord wrapped around both of your bodies jerked tighter. Joel was hiding his erection with the takeout container, too humiliated to let you see the hard band of his cock in his jeans. You'd run. You'd think he was a freak, a perv, a sleaze. 

He was all three, of course. Didn't stop him from wanting—

His cock driving deep inside you, achingly slow, back screaming for relief. Daddy, please, I’m… nnngh, please let me come! Daddy, I’ll do anything, please!

Shhh, baby girl. He rises to his haunches and dips his hand between your joined bodies, rubbing your slick little pearl in fast circles. Your eyes roll back and your head collided with the pillow once more. Thaaat’s it, baby. You gonna come for Daddy? Be a good girl for me?

“Joel,” you said softly, your food forgotten on the table, your body inching closer to his, now two feet apart at best. Your eyes buttery in the darkness, lips dewy with some pinkish gloss you always wore, gloss he knew tasted like cherries. He licked his lips. 

His hands flexed. “Yeah.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” you said, bridging the gap, placing your hand on his knee, pink nails and soft skin and vanilla perfume. Joel sets his container aside, swallowing hard. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You were tentative at first, scooting closer, your hand gingerly exploring the length of his strong thigh, against the grain of the denim. 

“Baby,” said Joel, more a long-bated exhale than a word at all. Gritting his teeth, hands at his sides, he watched in disbelief as you explored him, your manicured hand gently palming the hard length in his jeans. The moan he let out surprised himself. 

“Tell me to stop,” you whispered, pulling yourself onto his lap, straddling his hips, your arms winding around his neck, perfumecherrieslipgloss—

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

Joel’s hands, no longer balled into fists, flattened against your arms and travelled their length, exploring your contours, dipping his palms into the curves of your shoulder blades, lodging himself firmly in the after with you. 

You shivered, and he liked it. 

“You need someone to touch you, too, baby girl.”

Not a question. You nodded anyway. 

“Words,” he demanded. 

Your lips parted and suddenly your noses were brushing, the pupils of your heavy eyes expanding, taking all of him in. 

“I need you to touch me, Joel.”

“I know,” he said, one hand smoothing down the crown of your head, the other trailing featherlight up your spine. “I’m gonna kiss you, baby.”

You nodded again, a little feverish, pulling yourself closer to him, your thighs squeezing his. “Please.”

The after began with you, the way it will end with you. And he's kissing you now, too, swallowing the sounds of your orgasm as you hold him so tightly to you there's no escape. Not that he wants to leave. Not that he finally has this. 

He's breathing life into your climax and burning it bright, hot, endless—that’s my good girl, coming so much for me, I know it's a lot, baby girl, just keep holdin’ me, that’s it, sweetheart. 

And he's coming, too, grasping your hips so hard they'll bruise, nipping your earlobe and your jaw and leaving sloppy kisses on your neck, spiralling out of control, squeezed so tight by your hot, wet pussy. He comes with a pinch of pain in his lower back, groaning your name into you, pitching up into a near-whine as you milk him, guide him, coax him. 

Fuck, fuck… goddamn—

Daddy, I need your cum. Please come inside me. 

I will, baby girl, I will… Jesus—

It's so warm and slick where his cock begins to pulse inside you that he couldn't pull out if he wanted to. He empties himself, absolves himself, no longer a sinning man but one cleansed. Your body begs for it, your cunt pulling every drop from him, letting him make a mess of your used hole. Joel grinds absently until it's too much, until he’s sensitive and softening and trying not to collapse on top of you. 

Your lip gloss is smudged. He licks his lips and tastes cherries. 

“You okay, baby?”

You wince as he pulls out of you, globs of cum pooling at your hole and dripping onto the bed sheets. “Mhm.” You pull him closer, asking for a kiss he happily gives you. 

“I feel good. I feel happy.”

He grins into your throat, littering meagre kisses in the junction there. “Did so well for me,” he mumbles.

“Tell me something,” you whisper, combing your fingers through his hair. 

He purrs at the satiating scratch of your nails, his head resting on your chest. “Mmm.”

“Do you really like the Miller Macchiato, or are you just ordering it to make me happy?”

Joel chuckles, playfully taking your nipple between his teeth. “It's grown on me.”

From here, where he can feel the thrum of your settling heart reverberate through his skull, Joel gently tucks the beating organ back between your ribs for safekeeping. Here, in the clear-blue space of after, he doesn't need to hold it to know he's got it. He only needs to lower his ear to your chest and hear it sing his name. 

tagging some friends who showed interest in the wip!!: @casa-boiardi @swiftispunk @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @cool-iguana @morning-star-joy @party-hearses @5oh5 (i love you all 🫶)

[princessos-blog]

'Neighbourly advice.'

Captain Price x F!Reader

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘦𝘹 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥. 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦.

𝘊𝘞: 𝘜𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘖𝘳𝘢𝘭 (𝘳), 𝘗𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦/𝘋𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬, 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵.

𝘞𝘊: 5,282 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴.

𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴: 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦.

𝘈 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵, 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘢 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘣 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘵𝘢𝘱-𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘹.

''𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘶𝘤𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥. 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦-''

𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘺 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯��𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬.

𝘈𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘤𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘨𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦.

𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴, 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘬𝘺 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦. 𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘰, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.

𝘐𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘺, 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘬.

𝘐𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯. 𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰. 𝘠𝘰𝘶, 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘺𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘣𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘵.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘣 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘪 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵-𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘫𝘰𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳, 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘮 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺.

𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶. '𝘈' 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.

𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬��� 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝘜𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯, 𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴. 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶?

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯, 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘦, 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘶𝘱, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘤𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘮.

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘣, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯'𝘴 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘦𝘶𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦.

𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘤𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘹 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦.

𝘕𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘤 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯? 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵.

''𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦?'' 𝘊𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘭𝘺𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘤 𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘶𝘱𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘈𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴.

''𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘩, 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺. 𝘗𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳, 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘵.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 20 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳.

𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘊𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘧𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘳.

''𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴?'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 '𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥', 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯.

''𝘌𝘹. 𝘜𝘩, 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘹, 𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘖𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦, 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵.'' 𝘔𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘴, 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬.

''𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯?'' 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘶𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘬𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘦.

''𝘐𝘧 𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦.'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

''𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘐 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘥𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘚𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵.

𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥. 𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦? 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.

''𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘮?'' 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘣𝘰𝘹 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵��𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘣𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴.

''𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸? 𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵, 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

''𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘵 𝘪𝘵, 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭.'' 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘵. 𝘉𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵.

''𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯?'' 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦.

''𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘱 𝘱𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.'' 𝘚𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘭𝘰𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵, 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘻𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘸.

''𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺- 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯?'' 𝘐𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

''𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘸, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.'' 𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘳, 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘰𝘭𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦.

''𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵- 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥-'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘦.

''𝘎𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦? 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥, 𝘐'𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳.'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦, 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

''𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨.'' 𝘈 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘴𝘭𝘦.

''𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵? 𝘐𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵?'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘨𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦.

''𝘚𝘰 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵? 𝘚𝘰 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.'' 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳, 𝘢 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘱𝘦, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘶𝘮.

''𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶?'' 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯.

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

''𝘜𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵.'' 𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘦, 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥.

''𝘠𝘦𝘴..'' 𝘈 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵.

''𝘠𝘦𝘴, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵?'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘰, 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵.

''𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶- 𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶..'' 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

''𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘠/𝘕?'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘈 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵.

''𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦..'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦.

''𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭?'' 𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘣𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘳, 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘣𝘦, 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩.

''𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩��𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺.

''𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯.'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘺𝘱𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤, 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯, 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘧𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥.

''𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨.'' 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘫𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵.

𝘐𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥 ��𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥. 𝘖𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘺. 𝘕𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥. 𝘐𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦.

𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘫𝘢𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬, 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘯 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦.

''𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭-'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵, 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘴𝘴, 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘴.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩, 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳.

''𝘕𝘦𝘦𝘥- 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯-'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵-𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘹 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴. 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘵, 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘰𝘦𝘴, 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 ''𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺.''

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘈 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘰𝘱.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘴, 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯, 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯’𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦.

''𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬-'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺.

𝘈 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳-𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘱 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩.

𝘈 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘥, 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴.

𝘋𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘱, 𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩.

''𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.'' 𝘌𝘹𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘩���𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘺.

''𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺.

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺.

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘻𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦.

''𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦-'' 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳. 𝘐𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝘙𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵, 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬. 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘵, 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘰𝘳, 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯.

𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘶𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵.

𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘹 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴.

𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧-𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺, 𝘥𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘤 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘤𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺, 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘺, 𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘩𝘭𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘶𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘢𝘱��𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦, 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮.

𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴.

𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦’𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬, 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴, 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵.

𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵, 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵.

''𝘔𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭.'' 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘶𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪���𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭, 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳.

𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘶, 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘮 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦, 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘦𝘥–𝘦𝘶𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬–𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘵, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘦𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

“𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.'' 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦.

𝘌𝘹𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘵, 𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵.

''𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭?'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴.

𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬 “𝘝” 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘦, 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘺, 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘱, 𝘷𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝘋𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺.

''𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦-'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘬 𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.

''𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭?'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘬𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘸𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥.

''𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘰𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 with 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥.

''𝘚𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭.'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺, 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘱𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦, 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦, 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘤𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴.

“𝘑𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥-” 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵, 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯.

𝘏𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦��𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 ��𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘶𝘱 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘦𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬, 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘔𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘴, 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘳𝘩𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘮.

𝘗𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴. ''𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦-''

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘤𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝘏𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬. 𝘏𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨. ''𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘦, 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯.''

𝘛𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘭𝘣𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘤𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘤𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬, 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩, 𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯'𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴, 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

''𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵, 𝘩𝘮?'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥, 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵. 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

''𝘖𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐'𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘦-'' 𝘌𝘯𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

''𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯- 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬- 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦-'' 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯, 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦. 

''𝘖𝘩 𝘮𝘺-'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘴. 𝘈𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩, 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵, 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘣 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘭 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.

𝘞𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘤𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘕𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘩.

𝘈 𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵, 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘮 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯, 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭.

𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵, 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦, 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦.

𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩.

''𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘳. ''𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱.''

[princessos-blog]

Don't feed him he'll come back (3)

Simon riley x neighbour reader

summary: The ghost that lives in your apartment block is a solitary man, people tend to stay out of his way, giving him a wide berth. You can't help but think he seems a little bit lonely, cue pestering him with bad jokes and food.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: making out, alcohol consumption.

Part 1 here, Part 2 here.

You start the next day riding the high of the previous night. You feel ridiculous, you’ve had relationships before, had been in love before, but the butterflies that stir in your gut whenever you so much as think of Simon put anything you’ve ever felt to shame.

It’s a little pathetic, you haven’t even kissed him. Not to mention you’ve no idea how he even feels about you. Simon’s an incredibly difficult man to read, where you wore your heart on your sleeve, Simon kept his cards incredibly close to his chest. You knew he at least held some affection for you, otherwise he’d never tolerate you dragging him from his apartment into yours. Something that feels dangerously like hope swells in your chest when you remember how tenderly he’d tucked you in and you desperately tried to stamp it out.   

Casting your mind back, you attempt to pinpoint exactly where along the path you’d fallen so thoroughly and irrevocably in love with the mysterious neighbour that scared the shit out of so many tenants. Was it when you’d first seen his face? 

No that wasn’t it, although, Simon was one of the most stunning men you’d ever seen. You’d been speechless when he’d revealed his face, something you’d been teased for relentlessly, his cocky smirk appearing in the subject of your dreams. 

It had to have been before that though, because even if Simon was the ugliest man alive, you’d still love him. 

Perhaps it had been when he’d first sat down across from you at the small kitchen counter, large bulk and dark clothing incredibly out of place against the backdrop of your colourful and plushie-filled apartment. It was the first time you’d ever seen him nervous, or rather the first time you could tell he was. But for all that he initially seemed out of place, seeing him in the sanctity of your home made your heart sing with affection. 

(Though a part of you acknowledges that your heart has belonged to Simon Riley from the moment he laughed at one of your stupid jokes, it just took a while for your brain to catch up to what your heart already knew.)

You’d never meant to fall in love with the neighbour who’d reeked of loneliness, loneliness that you’d unfortunately recognised and silently vowed to do your best to alleviate. You’d never intended for your feelings to bloom and grow into a garden that now centred around Simon Riley.  

But they had. They had and no matter what you did you knew they weren’t likely to be stomped out any time soon. 

Knocking on his door that night you try to douse the disappointment that fills you when he doesn’t answer. It wasn’t often that Simon was called away so abruptly that he didn’t even have time to let you know but it still happened occasionally. Sending him a swift text you wish him a safe deployment and sign it off with a new joke you think he’d appreciate. 

The days pass much the same. You wake, think about Simon, send him a text and continue about your day. Although you're used to the radio silence it’s like the acknowledgement of your feelings makes the worry and restlessness ten times worse. 

When the three-month mark hits with no indication that Simon has even seen your texts, your worry starts to turn into an all-encompassing panic. More than once you’d been so distracted that you’d made a mistake at work, earning the concern of your coworkers and friends as you were unusually out of it. 

You want to reassure him but you can’t even reassure yourself. What if he was dead? Would you ever even find out? You weren’t family, there would be no obligation to let you, a random stranger, know. Is this how you were doomed to spend the rest of your life, wondering what had happened to your beloved Simon?

Another two months pass and you’re nothing short of a nervous wreck, your dreams and waking thoughts filled with awful scenarios of Simon being tortured, dying or dead. You can’t sleep, can’t even bring yourself to cook, because it reminds you so painfully of him. 

The perpetual state of simply not knowing starts to become too much to bear and you’re on the brink of doing something truly desperate when you run into your landlord. You’re on good terms but he’d not exactly someone you’d ever gone out of your way to speak to. Now, however, you were practically tripping over yourself to catch his attention, not even bothering with small talk. “Have you heard anything from Simon?”

The man’s confusion is palpable and it takes a few minutes of stilted and baffled conversation before he discerns who you’re asking after. “Ah, the man with the mask,” he gestured towards his face, “he terminated his lease a few weeks ago, odd really, still had half a year left.” The conversation may have continued for a little longer but you didn’t hear, your responses filtering through on autopilot. 

The soft material of your quilt against the bare skin of your arms, signifying your return to the safety of your bed, is what finally snaps you from your dazed stupor. All of the frantic worry, concern, fear morphing into an apoplectic level of sheer fury. Because Simon was apparently fine. Not only was he fucking fine, he was doing the one thing you’d never thought him possible of, ignoring you. 

He was fucking ghosting you. 

They say there are five stages of grief. You’ve completely skipped over denial and are stuck on anger, bargaining and acceptance won’t happen and you refuse to let yourself be depressed. Thus, anger it is, and boy is there months of pent-up rage. 

Work becomes central to your life, the only thing stopping you from completely crashing and burning, Icarus falling from grace, punishment for falling too hard and too fast for what was unattainable. 

You work yourself to the bone just so you can sleep at night without the visage of brown eyes and soft ashy curls infringing on the corners of your consciousness. It’s not sustainable, you know it, your friends know it and your boss knows it. You must look destroyed too because you don’t think your boss has ever encouraged someone to take a break in her entire history working for the company. 

It only takes one day of rest before the anger-fueled agitation thrumming through your veins has you pacing relentlessly, your nails are chewed down to stubs and you think you may actually hurt someone if you don’t do something. It’s a bit of a Hail Mary, you know, but you still let out a scream of irritation when none of your friends are free to get blind on a weekday for an impromptu night out. Still, it’s a minor setback and one that your agitation-fueled self won’t be put off by. 

Your room is a mess, clothes strewn out all over your bed and floor as you try to find the sluttiest thing you own. Bingbong meows discontentedly as you shove him off a pile of your tops and you simply scowl at the little fat fuck that usually brought you so much joy. However, you do give him goodbye kisses when you finally amble out of your front door and call an Uber.

To your dismay, the man driving you is chatty, even when you give short, terse answers that could not be more clearly a screaming invitation to leave you the fuck alone. He throws you hungry looks in the rearview mirror that makes you want to pull your skin off. You may have dressed to get attention but not from this kind of creep. The car barely rolls to a stop before you jump out, booking it double time to get yourself double parked with some drinks. 

You’ve sequestered yourself at the edge of the bar counter, away from the crowd but still close enough to call for drinks on demand. It’s about five drinks in, sculled far too fast for you to keep up properly when you sense a man slide into the seat next to you. Dark hair, blue eyes, devilish grin and when he opens his mouth a delicious Scottish accent flows out. The complete opposite of Simon. 

Perfect. 

“Buy you a drink?” You were never one to turn down free drinks, especially not from handsome men, not even when your heart still screamed for Simon. Firmly pushing down all thoughts of puppy brown eyes you flash your own version of a flirty smirk, turning to face the man so your knees brush his. 

The conversation flows so naturally that for those few moments suspended in time, you really do forget about Simon. It’s clear that both of you are simply searching for some carnal relief and that knowledge helps you to release your last few inhibitions. Just when you contemplate sliding off the stool and leading him away to a dark corner to have your way he slips up and mentions his team. 

“Team?” You croak, a mixture of disbelief and dread building. 

“Aye, me taskforce. Am in the military.” He must see the way the corners of your mouth are now downturned, your left eye twitching slightly as your mind once again flits toward the blond man who had stolen and then shattered your heart. “Bad experience with a military lad?” There’s no hostility in his tone, just genuine intrigue and you allow yourself to relax once more, focusing intently on his baby blues. 

“Two actually” you snort exasperatedly, chest panging a little at the thought of your deceased brother. Swallowing, you regained your nerve, stepping between his spread legs and loosely swung your arms around his neck. “Best not make it a third yeah?” you whispered against his lips, liquid confidence flowing in your veins after far too many cocktails. 

A moan reverberates in your chest, caught by Johnny’s, he’d told you to call him Johnny, tongue as his warm hands pulled you to sit on one of his thighs. The muscled flesh grinding upwards and causing you to yelp, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders to stabilise yourself. Somewhere the logical part of your mind, the part dulled dangerously by spirits, is screaming that you’re still very much in public but the heartbroken and horny part wins out as you continue to make out with the Scottish stranger built like a god. 

His mouth attaches itself to your neck and your eyelids flutter shut as your hands move to tangle in his hair, tugging harshly to ground yourself from the onslaught of sensations Johnny’s providing your pent-up body with. 

Just as one of his palms slips below your shirt you’re suddenly being ripped off the man with a surprising gentleness that you don’t have much time to ponder on before you’re shrieking as you watch Johnny get punched in the jaw. 

The alcohol has thoroughly distorted your vision and the dim lighting doesn’t help but the fire in your veins is doused with icy despair as you quickly recognise the large bulk of the man who’d just laid out poor Johnny. The tattoos covering his arm and that goddamn skull mask were simply unmistakable. 

“Simon!” Your shrill voice is joined by Johnny’s own pained and confused groan as all three of you struggle to assess what’s just happened. 

“Wait, Johnny?” Simon sounded equally as confused, though his chest was still heaving in… anger?

“You know each other?” You cross your arms defensively, drunk brain trying to catch up on the turn of events. You refuse to look at Simon, instead staring at Johnny as he pulls himself up and you wait for an explanation. 

“Teammates” Johnny spits out a little blood and you can’t help the somewhat hysterical laugh that bubbles forth. 

Teammates. 

What were the fucking odds? Of all the attractive men and women frequenting this specific bar you almost shack up with one of Simon’s presumably closest friends. The evil vindictive part of you screams to go through with it anyway, though given Johnny’s sudden wariness and dawning horror as he connects some sort of mental dots you doubt that would be happening. 

Huffing, you turned from the two men and gathered your belongings as quickly as possible, hoping to make a hasty escape in the confusion. Hoping to escape before Simon could see you cry. 

Whatever deities existed seemingly weren’t on board with your plans and your attempt to skirt around Simon is instantly thwarted as he firmly but gently grabs your bicep. 

“Let me go,” you curse the way your voice wavers traitorously even through gritted teeth and you wince when you realise you can’t even bring yourself to say your name. Simon remains silent and if anything his grip even tightens a little, as if he were afraid you would slip through his fingers into nothingness. Incredibly audacious of him considering what he’d put you through these last few months. 

“Simon lad, I’m sorry, I dinnae ken they were-” Simon cuts off Johnny’s apology with a wave and curt nod that’s very clearly dismissive. Johnny, the traitorous bastard that he is, simply smiles, bids you farewell and then leaves you to deal with the brute that broke your heart. 

Stubbornly you refuse to face him, even when his gruff voice begs you multiple times. Evidently, Simon gets tired of your refusal and forces your eyes to focus on his with a forceful, guiding hand on your chin. Equal parts dismay, arousal and anger wage war in your body at the action and you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste the metallic rust of blood. 

The silence is damning and though his grip loosens it remains cupping your chin and sliding up to caress your cheek. He’s wearing that stupid skull balaclava and as such you can only see his eyes. Those godforsaken pools of weariness and tenderness that threaten to pull you in until you drown in them. His thumb gently caresses your lip, still swollen from Johnny’s machinations and you force yourself to speak, to display your hurt before he somehow worms his way back into your good graces. 

“What? What could you possibly want from me Simon? Haven’t you done enough?” There’s a vulnerability, a defeatedness in your voice that you hadn't meant to let slip but the man catches it, you know he does. Because though you hate to admit it, at this point, even after months apart, you think Simon might know you better than you know yourself. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s a pathetic notion and when he doesn’t elaborate it causes you to finally wrench away. You barely make it over the threshold of the exit when suddenly Simon is there once more, crowding into your space with the desperation of a man starved. His arms wrap around you like a vice, trapping your back against his chest. 

“Please.” His voice is a hoarse whisper carried away by the wind, just for your ears. “Please, I know I fucked up, please just let me explain.” His body shakes a little against you and you stand there in the cool night air fighting an internal battle. Simon Riley hurt you. 

Hurt you far greater than any man or woman had ever managed. 

And yet. And yet. 

You still loved him so much it burned. 

“Ok.” Your voice is croaky, reedlike and thin as your mouth moves without your brain’s permission. 

“Ok?” Simon’s head darts up from where it had been resting against you, voice watery and full of childlike hope that you find yourself nodding. 

“Ok. But you only get one chance.” Simon all but goes boneless against you, apologies and thanks spilling past his lips like wildfire but you interrupt him before he could go too far. “Not here, my apartment,” you don’t particularly want him in your space, but you can’t do this in public either, “until then just… don’t speak.” Your voice cracks towards the end but neither of you acknowledges it, standing in strained silence as you wait for your ride home. 

Simon’s eyes burn holes in the side of your head but once again you refuse to look at him, staring out the window into the darkness of the cityscape as you try to mentally prepare for what’s about to come.

Tags: @innercollectivecomputer @cooliofango @pertinentpostmortem @ghostslillady @domaniquessidehoe2 @ilovehyperfixating @pauphs @skotchi @bunnyreaper @tokusho @ohworm-writes @penismonkey @daisychainsinknots @taman-a @guess-whos-now-a-mood @leclercdream @justarandommom @iwannabealocalcryptid @dd122004dd @actuallyhiswife @alexisv15 @perfectus-in-morte @waves-against-a-cliff @fog-sama @juvenillia

[princessos-blog]

⌗︙・best friend yuuji ⸜⸜・

i know for a fact that best friend itadori wants to know everything about your sex life.

"what's the biggest you have taken?" he asks you with a smirk as you're sitting in his dorm.

"about 6 inches." you answer and yuuji chokes. he's been told he's big but he never sayed attention to it. but 6 inches is way smaller than he is.

"anything bigger?" he nervously laughs, making you raise a eyebrow at him.

"nope, anything bigger would tear my guts." his heart sinks to his stomach, is he too big for you?

"are you trying to say something?" you have him, he thinks. now there's no denying.

"im a bit bigger."

"yuuji, slow down." you moan as his big cock slides through your insides. yuuji thought the best way to prove that he's big is that he's gonna fuck you with all he has.

"i told you it's gonna fit." he smiles at you, pistoling his cock inside. your pussy is filled to the brim, he's so thick he almost has trouble moving. but with how wet you are, you make it easier for him. you have never thought you would fuck your best friend, but now the circumstances are different, your best friend has a big cock.

"gonna cum, sweet girl?" you can't even listen to what he's saying, his cock is making you drunk. yuuji finds your clit and he rubs it at the speed of his thrusts. all you manage is to yell out before you cum around his cock. he fucks you through your orgasm, cumming inside of you.

"i hope you don't mind i came inside." he tells you as he's cleaning you up. you shake your head, "no, i feel proud to have cum inside of me produced by such a big cock."

he laughs at your answer, throwing the towel at your head. he climbs on the bed next to you, straddling you.

"yeah? then we can try if it will fit in your mouth."

[princessos-blog]

You can only reblog this on Nov 16 2023💥

[princessos-blog]

THE RESIGNATION

Summary: You can quit. It doesn't mean Rafe will let you.

Paring: CEO!Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact

Warnings:  18+ Smut. Oral (w receiving) Masturbation (w), Rough Sex, PIV, Creampie, Fluff, Romance with a dash of Angst. AgedUp!Rafe. Not Proof-Read. Enjoy.

Word Count: 2k words

Author's Note: Something a little shorter, lighter and sweet. Happy reading and much love to you all ❤️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

-------

*Buzzzzzzzzz*

“Yes.”

“Y/N is here to see you.”

“Send her in.”

Rafe watches in fascination as you shuffle in, your face taut and serious. Your eyes cast downward, clutching a file. As you tuck an unruly strand of hair behind your ear, he realizes you're nervous. The tension, his silence, makes you even more anxious.

“Sit,” he instructs, motioning to the chair across his desk. Meanwhile, he keeps his gaze on his papers. He continues to read and leisurely sign forms. Yet, he can distinctly feel your eyes on him, both of you fully aware of the meeting's purpose.

For Rafe, the dynamics at play are exhilarating. After finishing his tasks, he lifts his eyes to find you focused on your file, seemingly avoiding his gaze.

He unbuttons his suit jacket and leans back, his fingers drum lightly on the fine-crafted letter in front of him. The paper carries a soft hint of perfume. It smells like you.

There's a part of him that wishes to be cruel, to use biting words he's often used with others in his employ. Yet something about you prevents him. The game of power was always in his favor, but with you, the boundaries become ambiguous, shifting in unexpected ways. With you, it's always been personal.

“Why didn't you tell me you were unhappy?” he asks. His tone is calm, yet probing. You seem taken aback, eyes widening as they search his face.

He decides to try another approach. “It's clear to me now,” he points to your letter of resignation. “You were unhappy at Cameron Enterprises. How long have you felt this way?”

Your surprise is palpable, and he watches you closely, enjoying the tapestry of emotions that flash across your face, each one more captivating than the last.

“Well?” he prods.

You shift, straightening your back. “I am grateful for my time at Cameron Enterprises. Truly I am. The team has been so kind to me, and I'll honestly cherish the friends I've made—”

“But?” he asks, cutting you off, eager to understand.

“But, I believe it's time for me to pursue other opportunities,” you admit, measuring your words. You slowly nod your head, as though you have thought this whole thing out, and now you are not only resolved with the thought but you truly believe it. It’s this sureness, this resolution, that truly makes Rafe react.

“I see,” Rafe says as he presses a button, making the office walls turn opaque. "So, you think you've outgrown us."

“No—”

"No?" he interrupts, rising from behind his desk and walking slowly toward you.

"No. I just- I feel it's time for me to try something... new.”

"Something new," he repeats, his gaze lowers to meet yours while you look up at him. His eyes scrutinize you carefully. “I respect that,” he nods, and as you avert your gaze, he gently hooks your chin with his fingers, prompting you to look him in the eye.

“No, really. I do. What's the point of life if not to grow, right? But let me be crystal clear: leaving here is not an option. So, here's what I'm willing to offer," his voice is as smooth as honey as his thumb strokes your jaw. "First, a five percent raise. But seeing as you’re already on one of the highest salaries here, I suspect that won't really sway you. You’ll also be given a new title.”

"Raf—"

"And to sweeten the deal," Rafe interrupts, "a vacation to any destination you want. You'll be whisked away on the company jet, stay at a five-star, luxury hotel—every need pampered and taken care of. I'll see to that, and we'll get to that, but here's the thing—" he whispers, his voice low and seductive.

"You embarrassed me today—ah, ah, I'm talking," he asserts, his eyes commanding yours into silence. "If it were anyone else, anyone else, no one would have noticed or given a flying fuck. But since it’s you, your little resignation created a lot of gossip. It made us look weak, hinted at instability, and in a Fortune 500 company, that's not going to work. Do you think the board cares about your need to ‘try something new'? Hm," his gaze is drawn to your mouth as you clamp it shut.

"So for those reasons, I'm going to punish you,”he says, while his thumb gently taps your chin. "But how to punish you...” he muses. “That’s the real question.”

Pulling away, he slides his hands into his pockets and, after taking a few steps back, leans against his desk.

"Rafe, you know I was just— I mean I wasn’t trying to—”

"Spare me, all right? I'm not interested in hearing what you have to say. Not right now. What I want..." he said slowly as he tapped a finger to his chest "What I want, is for you to open your legs, yeah? That's what I want."

You're shocked — he gathers as much from the way you gulp, and Rafe can't help but let a smirk of self-satisfaction curl his lips.

"Don't look so surprised. You knew what working for me entailed when you agreed to it. Now, spread your legs. Let me see what I'm shelling out nearly half a mil for."

"Rafe, I… I" you murmur.

Crossing his arms, his gaze locks onto yours signalling the end of the discussion. Hesitantly, and with much caution, you eventually slide your legs apart, your skirt riding up ever so slightly.

"Wider," Rafe commands, "Lean back and open them wider."

Breathing heavily, you do as he asks. Leaning back against the chair, you spread your legs open fully, causing your skirt to ride up to your waist, revealing your panty-covered sex. The damp patch, dark against the bright red fabric teases him.

"Pull your panties to the side. Let me see how wet you are.” he whispers silkily.

You turn your head away shyly but eventually you hook a finger into the fabric and pull it aside, exposing your slick wet folds to his ravenous gaze.

Rafe smiles in approval.

"That's good." he purrs, "Now, touch yourself. That pussy looks like it needs a good fingering " his voice rumbles with authority as his gaze flickers from your face to your exposed weeping slit. You hesitate, breathing heavily while trying to form a protest.

"I… I'm not—"

"Do it," he interrupts firmly.

You hesitate for a few moments, but eventually obey by pushing a finger into your dripping sex. A moan escapes your lips when Rafe lets out a deep groan as encouragement. Your hesitation seems to disappear and you push another finger in.

"Fuck," he hisses. "Add another. I know you can handle it."

You nod slowly and introduce a third, while the middle finger of your other hand gently rub your clit. Sinking into the sensation you open your legs wider for more access, your fingers moving hard and fast.

Rafe groans in protest. “Go slow...This isn’t for you. It’s about what I want, and what I want is for you to tease yourself. You're not allowed to cum. Not yet. Not until I say.”

You whimper but follow his command. You slow your speed til it's teasing almost leisurely and Rafe soaks it all in. The jolts of pleasure that have you mewling, the way your chest rises and fall, breathless, desperate. The way you curl your fingers just enough to make you gasp. It's incredible to watch and as your hips begin to buck against your massaging fingers, Rafe finds himself looming over you, taking in the sight of your ecstasy-filled face and finger-stuffed pussy.

He leans in and kisses you. His tongue lashes yours, tasting your moans and desperation. He pulls away, eyes back on your wet centre, focused on your fingers moving in and out, accompanied by the sweet wet sounds it makes and your hips rising from the chair.

"Go on, make that pussy cum." he orders. In no time, your orgasm washes over you. He can see it build from your core as you shudder and your thighs shake, your breath hitches fighting to stave it off and then it radiates out from the depths of your soul in a moan of pure ecstasy.

Before you can catch your breath, Rafe pushes your hand away and laps at your essence with his tongue. His hands on the back of your knees, push your legs right to your chest, keeping it wide open as he tongue fucks you.

Eating you out was always an appetizer he savored, making sure you had cum at least twice from his efforts, but right now, with his blood boiling with anger and frustration, he's famished and desperate for the main course.

Urgently, he undoes his slacks and lifts your legs even higher, pinning your ankles above your head with one hand. Without giving you time to adjust, he smears his cock with your slick and plunges deep into your tight heat, pressing you into the chair with his body weight as he begins to pound you.

It's a painful position, and he's acutely aware of that. It's deep and aggressively forceful, the type of position that should be approached with care, or ease you gently into it. But right now, it's not about you. Right now he's too riled up to care and so he fucks you without remorse or restraint, reducing you to nothing more than a fuck toy- his fuck toy spurred on by the delicious moans that escape your parted lips.

Your hands cling to the armrests for dear life as you desperately try to maintain your balance. Rafe continues to force his hips to meet the back of your thighs, taking pleasure in your inability to move while he plows you deep. You whimper, desperate to escape his grip, but it does nothing to deter him. Instead, he revels in your struggle, knowing that your lack of control will only intensify his orgasm and your own.

"You want to quit..." Rafe sneers. He watches you whimper and feels your pussy tighten like a vice, while simultaneously soaking the front of his slacks. It makes him feral and he redoubles his efforts, fucking you into the chair until it starts to scrape against the cherry-oak floor.

"You want to quit on me?" he strains, while he observes ecstasy wash over your face, your eyes roll back in a pleasure-filled awe. With one hand, he gently taps your cheek to keep you focused.

"You wanna quit on me? Huh?” And he leans in further, his cock repeatedly hits a spot so deep you’re shaking, babbling and barely coherent.

“You're not going anywhere. Not now, not ever," he grunts, "Now fucking cum. Fucking cum.” His ruthless demand pushes you higher until all inhibitions are obliterated. You scream out in surrender, bucking up onto his plundering cock while Rafe releases a guttural moan, filling you with ribbon after ribbon of thick cum.

Several minutes have passed when his movements gradually stops, signaling the ebbing of his energy. He's exhausted, his fervor having reached its climatic end. He pulls out, his balance wavering slightly until his back meets the glass desk behind him. A contented exhale escapes his lips as he takes in the sight of you.

There you are, looking thoroughly fucked out. Your legs are splayed open, a sheen of sweat glistens on your skin, reflecting the aftermath of passion. His cum slowly leaks out of you and you wear it like a carnal badge of honor. Observing your state, he’s acutely aware that his own appearance mirrors yours—fucked out and messy. His clothes is in disarray, his cock is hanging out and physical exhaustion makes his body seek support against the table.

Despite the disheveled scene, a wave of affection swells within him, washing over any remnants of his earlier anger. His chest heaves as he gulps in air, attempting to control his breathing.

"You're lucky I love you," he manages to say, each word punctuated by his effort to recover. His gaze locks onto yours, intense yet softened by the rush of emotions. "No one else has this infuriating, intoxicating effect on me. You drive me to the brink and back," he adds, a playful seriousness lacing his tone as he licks his lips. "For that little stunt, I should fire you," he teases.

Your fingers glide through the cum dripping from your sex, and Rafe can't suppress a sense of pride. He always takes pride in the chaos he creates, especially when you revel in it.

"I've been trying to talk to you, but you've been so distracted lately, you haven't been listening" you sigh, as you try to catch your breath. "What else was I supposed to do to get your attention? Hand me some tissues, will you?"

He pauses, his eyes narrowing as he digests your words, then reaches with a trembling hand for the tissue box on his desk. "When? When did you try to talk to me and I wasn't listening?" he asks. He takes a clump of tissues and hands them to you.

"This morning at breakfast, and last night during dinner. I barely started speaking before you turned the conversation back to contractors and deadlines and even when I gave you a solution, not just one Rafe but two- two concrete solutions you ignored me. It was like I wasn't even there. It's not the first time." you explain, accepting the tissues from him.

"I didn't realize—"

"You did," you interrupt, ensuring your eyes stay fixed on his to underline your statement. "Why do you think I kept singing the song about wanting to make some changes, wanting to try something new. I've been saying it for weeks on and off because this is clearly not working."

“I thought you were talking about remodeling the offices, not resigning from the company. It's a family business—how would it look if my wife quits?" His voice carries a hint of concern, not just for the optics but for the unspoken bond that this business represents between the two of you.

A soft sigh escapes you as you lock eyes with him, a delicate blend of frustration and affection. "Rafe, I don't want to walk away from this," you admit "But I need more than just a title and a desk. I need to feel heard, to be part of this with you, not just in name because I'm married to a Cameron. I want to be a part of the decisions and changes we dare to dream up together."

Rafe's eyes hold yours, a moment of realization dawning upon him. "I see you," he says quietly, the weight of his oversight apparent in his tone. "I'm sorry I wasn't listening. Do you really want to leave? Is that what you truly want?"

His question, earnest and laced with vulnerability, hangs between you, but you shake your head gently. "No, I don't want to leave, Rafe. I just want... more. More involvement, more acknowledgment, and yes, maybe even a little more attention. But leaving? No. This place, with all its madness, is where I belong."

He exhales, the relief evident in the way his shoulders drop slightly, the rigid line of worry softening around his eyes. "Thank fuck for that," he says with a hushed intensity. "Because I can't imagine doing any of this without you. But let's agree on no more 'resignation stunts' in the future, yeah? It's bad press and only makes for bad business—besides, I doubt my heart can take it."

You nod, agreeing, a mischievous glint in your eye as if to say you’ll find another effective way to get right under his skin, because in the end you always do. “Fine. But for the record, I do have some ideas for my office too."

He laughed, the sound rich and warm, and he pulled you into a messy, loving kiss. "We'll discuss it at home, Mrs. Cameron. For now, let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"

"Speak for yourself. You're the one with your dick hanging out."

With a shared laugh and a sweaty kiss, you both begin the task of putting the office—and yourselves—back together, the line between professional and personal wonderfully blurred.

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A/N - See guys I can do sweet 😈 I tried to keep the reveal until the end shhhh 🤭 Thanks for reading x If you enjoyed it please reblog as it supports writers. Until next time ❤️

[princessos-blog]

daddy next door | masterlist

daddy dom!joel miller x f!reader

summary: it’s summer in texas, and when the dashing joel miller moves in next door, your less than favorable life gets completely turned around.

general warnings/tags: MDNI. 18+. foul language. alcohol consumption. non-canon joel. sarah exists. daddy kink. dom/sub dynamics. soft!dom joel. dd/lg dynamics (no infantilization of reader, but very much so leaning into the ‘babygirl’ aesthetic/mindset/behavior in a likely unrealistic way). submissive reader. sub space. implied heavy age gap (reader is in her 20s, joel is in his 50s). heavy smut. pet names. size kink. corruption/innocence kink (all consensual). domestic abuse & alcoholism (readers father). sexual harassment (not joel). major daddy issues. depictions of anxiety. moodboard for aesthetics only. see respective chapters for additional warnings.

ONE | welcome to the neighborhood (coming soon)

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

*total number of chapters undetermined*

a/n: this is incredibly unlike most things I write, and I am well aware of that!! it’s a self indulgent little fantasy I wanted to make come to life. please, heed the warnings. if the content is not to your liking, do not consume it.

[princessos-blog]

You’re fucking beautiful. That was the only thing Simon could think the entire night as he sat across from you at dinner. Everything about you was just simply…beautiful.

He’d taken you to a local restaurant for your first date, and couldn’t take his eyes off you the entire night. Every laugh, every smile, every time your eyes would meet his, Simon felt his cold heart thawing bit by bit.

The two of you could be talking about the most mundane of things, but you held his full attention. He hung on your every word, memorizing every little detail about yourself that you shared with him.

The way you looked at him, had Simon believing in love for the first time in his life. You looked at him like he was someone worthy, someone who wasn’t emotionally damaged. You were looking at him like he wasn’t ever anyone other than Simon Riley.

How you even entertained the thought of being with him, Simon would never understand. You were everything he wasn’t, but perhaps that’s why he had to ask you out. Had to make you happy. Had to make you his.

Simon walked you to your door, his heart racing a mile a minute as you smiled up at him- then he did the thing he’d wanted to do all night. He kissed you.

He’d never been happier in that moment- and the second his lips touched yours, Simon Riley knew he was done for- he was truly fucked. You had him wrapped around your finger, and Simon didn’t care in the least.

He walked to his car that night, his smile contagious as his fingers danced on his lips, where yours had just been- thinking to himself he couldn’t wait to kiss you again.