Remus Laslow

By Jordan Stokely

“𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝟸𝟶𝟿𝟾. 𝙾𝚛, 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝟷𝟾𝟻𝟾. 𝙼𝚢 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝙼𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚕 𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸’𝚖 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛, 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎. 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝟸𝟶𝟻𝟶, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚠, 𝙸’𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝: 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚅𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍! 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝙴𝚕 𝙳𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚘; 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚍, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎! 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜… 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 are 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚞𝚜 𝙻𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠! 𝙽𝚘𝚠, 𝙸’𝚖 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚎 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜! 𝙷𝚎’𝚜 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝, 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝-𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚘… 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚗! 𝙷𝚊-𝚑𝚊! 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗! 𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚍𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝚆𝚊𝚒𝚝. 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊. 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜…”

Week 1:

Ugh. Finally, off air. Those lights were starting to give me a headache, anyway. Why was I even sent down there? It’s so murky and nasty, I got my clothes all wet from the cave water. Well, whatever pays the bills. I didn’t take that flight back to the UK and eat plain bread for nothing. I got myself sat down at my computer and read up on Remus Laslow. He’s one of those authors. The ones that English teachers go on about the vague symbolism, like the color of the curtains, except it makes sense in the context of the story, so you actually have to pay attention. Very annoying to read, unless you’re a historian, looking for a headache. Hell, it’s hard to look at, since this man’s handwriting is loops on capitals and little curls at the end of every line. Whatever I could find, I started writing down. The producer demands it. Something about “authenticity.” I must get basic information like the publisher and the names of his relatives. The Information Conglomerate didn’t have much. Sadly, because of this, I must go back there. I’m taking the notepad, just in case there’s anything important in that mess of a city. Ugh. I better get a bonus for this.

Week 2:

Finally, I came back to the city. I got my camera crew and headed back down there. I forgot how it smells… like dead rats and sewage. Absolutely awful. I think it’s already getting to me because there’s a little chattering voice in my head claiming to be Remus Laslow. Seriously? I ignored it, and it got louder. It told me to look up… and I saw it. The massive hole covered by concrete. This is no cave…this is a sinkhole. A grave for the ancient. A chill ran up my spine at the thought of how many people used to live here. Those who were swallowed whole by the earth. That’s…terrifying. This area isn’t even prone to sinkholes. We can’t put this on television, we have to keep the public safe. We’ll have to make this some sort of “lost footage’” kind of deal. I had to keep going, for the corporation.

That voice kept chattering. You know what? I have nothing better to do. I’m going to humor this thing. What’s the worst that can happen to me? Besides, if I say I was guided by the ghost of some historical figure, imagine the publicity! Haunted footage of new content! Genius! And so, I listened. It took me through mazes of houses and empty cobblestone streets, and into houses to get the most information I could possibly find. By God, it worked! I found a necklace, and an old wedding ring, some coins, and an old pharmacy under the pub! Why didn’t anybody else know about this? Alright, I entertained the hallucination. That was just blind luck. Let’s get this down in the notepad. Time to go home.

It’s been a long day. I finally got fresh air and headed off to bed. Waking up this morning, the voice was still there.

Week 3:

I’ve woken up these past few mornings feeling nauseous. Thank the Lord it was my off time. After the items I turned in, the Discovery Conglomerate gave me a decent raise and two weeks off. The voice in my head that calls itself Remus will not shut up. Like an infernal itch in my brain. I went to make myself some breakfast (Jasper was cleaning his servant’s quarters), and found myself absolutely dumbfounded on how to use a microwave. Poor Jasper had to do everything when he was done cleaning. Everything seemed so foreign to me. What are these buttons for? What do they do? Who is this strange man serving me? Why am I in this house at all? I made the decision that I was sick and stayed in for the day. It’s not like I could go anywhere, either. I don’t even know what that lump of metal in my garage is for. It’s warm outside, but inside, it’s cold. How does that work? Everything looks so comfortable here, but home was nice. Wait… I am home! Why am I so confused? What’s happening? I need to lay down. This luxurious mansion is all mine! I earned this! All of this is mine, no matter what Remus says! My body, my rules! Now, I better wake up tomorrow and find this settled!

Week 4:

I keep finding myself in odd places when I wake up. I can’t even quite remember how I fell asleep. At first, it was small distances: waking up in my front yard, the neighbor’s house (That was a nightmare to explain why I was in their bed), and even on the sidewalk a couple of houses away. I haven’t ever sleepwalked in my life. Nobody in my family has. It is only today that I had experienced this. Medication seemed to shorten the distance I had to walk back home, but I never woke up in my own bed again. As time passed, my body walked off farther and farther. My butlers have had to walk me back and seem to go crazy when I asked them what happened. I claimed to be Remus Laslow in my sleep. This is a pattern now. I believe in no such thing as ghosts, but this is starting to convince me. I’m going mad. I need to stop working on this project, no matter what the producer says. It’s taking a toll on me. This needs to stop. Now.

Week 5:

I keep waking up in the same place now: back into the underground city. It’s a convenient commute, but I’d hate to film in my pajamas. Remus keeps asking for favors that I simply cannot commit to. Every time I decline, it just gets worse and worse. I started waking up in beds with other people’s husbands, wives, or even both, instead of on the street or in a cardboard box. This is a hell I can hardly grasp. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve been involved in divorces led in misunderstanding. The electricity in my house has been completely destroyed. He wrote a poem to my manservant so terribly sexual that Jasper gives me a face I’ve never seen on him before whenever I offer him wine. Since when did I offer my servants my wine? I don’t even drink wine! I didn’t even know I had wine in my house? To be fair, he’s been looking rather nice lately… I suppose I can’t blame myself. I can’t take it anymore. Remus asked me something simple, something that will hopefully let this nightmare end: Stay in his house when I’m at work. Sounds simple enough. I could probably do this, actually…

Week 6:

𝑅𝑒𝓂𝓊𝓈’𝓈 𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒, 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓂𝒶𝑔𝑒, 𝐼 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒶 𝓈𝓂𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓃𝒶𝓅, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓂𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓉 𝒶𝓁𝓁. 𝒩𝑜𝓉 𝒶 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓁𝑒 𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇. 𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝓎 𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓈𝒶𝒻𝑒𝓉𝓎, 𝐼 𝓈𝑒𝓉 𝓊𝓅 𝒶 𝓈𝓂𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝓅 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒. 𝑅𝑒𝓂𝓊𝓈 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓂𝑒𝒹 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒹𝑒𝒸𝒾𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝑒 𝑔𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓊𝓅𝓅𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓈. 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒾𝓉𝓎, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓌𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝑒𝓃𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒶𝓉 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓋𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒. 𝐻𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓅𝒶𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝐼 𝓀𝑒𝓅𝓉 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝑅𝑒𝓂𝓊𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒. 𝒩𝑜𝓉 𝒶 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓁𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝐼 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝒽𝒾𝓂, 𝓊𝓃𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝐼 𝒶𝓈𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝒶 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝓇 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉, 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝑜𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝒸𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝓊𝓈𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁. 𝑅𝑒𝓂𝓊𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝓎. 𝒜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓁𝓁, 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒. 𝐼’𝒹 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓊𝓅𝓈𝑒𝓉 𝒾𝒻 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓎𝒶𝓃𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝑜… 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝒹𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒, 𝒽𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓁𝓎. 𝒯𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓇, 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒’𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝑔𝑜. 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓂𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝒸𝒶𝓁 𝓌𝒽𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝐼 𝓌𝑜𝓀𝑒 𝓊𝓅, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓃𝑜𝒷𝑜𝒹𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓀 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒. 𝐼’𝓂 𝒶 𝒸𝑒𝓁𝑒𝒷𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓎! 𝐼 𝒹𝑒𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝐼 𝓈𝑜 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓇𝓋𝑒! 𝐻𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒. 𝑅𝑒𝓂𝓊𝓈. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒷𝒶𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝒹. 𝐻𝑒’𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝒻𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓌, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝑒’𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝟨 -𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝟤𝟢𝟢 𝓎𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈! 𝒟𝑜𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒?! 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝒹𝒹𝑒𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔! 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒶 𝓇𝒶𝓉𝓈’ 𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶 𝑔𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉! 𝒜𝑔𝒽, 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹… 𝒮𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎.

Week 7:

𝓘’𝓿𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓷 𝓡𝓮𝓶𝓾𝓼’𝓼 𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝔀. 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓘 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝔂, 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓫𝓵𝓮 𝓘 𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓲𝓽. 𝓘’𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓪 𝓯𝓮𝔀 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮𝓼, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓘 𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓫𝓵𝓮 𝓯𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓶𝔂 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓪 𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓸 𝓪𝔀𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓘 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓵𝔂 𝓶𝓸𝓿𝓮. 𝓘 𝓴𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓶𝔂𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯 𝓶𝓸𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝓸𝓷 𝓶𝔂 𝓸𝔀𝓷, 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓮. 𝓘’𝓶 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓵𝔂 𝓪𝔀𝓪𝓴𝓮, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷’𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓵 𝓶𝔂𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯. 𝓡𝓮𝓶𝓾𝓼 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓶𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓶𝔂 𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓸𝓻 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰. 𝓘’𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓰𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸 𝓪 𝓭𝓸𝓬𝓽𝓸𝓻, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓮 𝓶𝓮? 𝓘 𝓾𝓼𝓾𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓻𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓭𝔂 𝓶𝔂𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓼𝓵𝓮𝓮𝓹. 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓘 𝓼𝓵𝓮𝓮𝓹, 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻 𝓘 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓶 𝓽𝓸 𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓪𝓼𝓵𝓮𝓮𝓹. 𝓕𝓸𝓻 𝓮𝔁𝓪𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮, 𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽, 𝓘 𝓼𝓵𝓮𝓹𝓽 𝓯𝓸𝓻 18 𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼. 𝓞𝓷 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓾𝓵𝓪𝓻𝓵𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓭 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓼, 𝓘 𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓪𝓰𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓵𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷 24, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓼𝓮 𝓪𝔀𝓯𝓾𝓵 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓼. 𝓦𝓪𝓲𝓽. 𝓦𝓱𝔂 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓸𝓸𝓻 𝓵𝓸𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭? 𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓰? 𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓱𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓼. 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓱𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓼. 𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓵𝔂 𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼. 𝓘𝓽’𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪𝓷 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷. 𝓘’𝓶 𝓼𝓸 𝓽𝓲𝓻𝓮𝓭… 𝓘 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓪 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓫𝓮𝓪𝓽. 𝓘𝓽’𝓼 𝓰𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓬𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓻. 𝓛𝓸𝓾𝓭𝓮𝓻.

ῆ̵͔́̃̑͝σ̴̡̨̨͎͚̭̤̇͊.̷̨̛̰̤̰̬͇̺̗̌̌͝ ̷̳͊͗̔̉̈́̎̄͘͘͝η̸̛͖̣̘̈́̆σ̴̨̳̻̦̼͇̜͚͎͑̚.̷̨̢̛̳̤̜̮̿̊́̌̓̚͝͠ ̸̧͇͍̳̠͙̳̟̏̀̈́̈͑η̷̧̧̖̭̘̱̈́̈̔̓̚̚σ̵̨̻̠̳̠̻͚̼͛̇͗̋̂͂̂͠.̷̺̋͒̂ ̴̼̹̜͉̔̀∂̴̢̼̗̜̜͉̪̫́̎σ̴̪͑̀̃̅͑̂̾̀͝ͅή̷̖’̷̢̧̖͈̹̼̙̫͔̤̅̃̊͠т̴̞̝̣̗̮͓̫̲̊́͒͗̑.̵͚͖̱̗͙̄̃͑̒͐̀̕͘͠ ̴̡̡̯̞͙̻̬̜͈̳̊ῑ̸̢̦̜͚͖̮̫̞̖͗̈́͊̕ ̶̱̦̫̝̝̱̊͒͋̽̆̍̕͝͝͝¢̷̬́̔͒̐͑α̴̧̜̰̲̑͒̈́͘͜ῆ̵̧͓̭̅’̵̟́̃̈͐͛͠т̶̥̤̹̙̯̥̙̙̓̈́.̷̧̈̒̏̒͆͝ ̴̨͖͕̯̹̲̯͕̬̖̐̓̀̎̎͘ѕ̵̡͓̿́͛́̿̌̀̕͘͠т̸̢̮͒̐̌̓̇̑̐̚̚͠σ̴̡̓́́͐̓̿̓͘͝ρ̵͔̗͕̬̖̦̪̪̀͋̆̓̓̓͒͌̚̕ ̴̖̝̙̺̬̑ῒ̴̨̢͍͍͈̖͈̼̳͑͒т̴̺̺̯͍͚̭̳̣͕̓́̎̈́͗̉.̵̢̣͔̣̔̽̽̎̓̈́͝͝ ̶̣̻̆̀̀͝ή̶͉̐̔̀̀͂̏̏͌̈σ̸̧̧̼͉̠̮̜͙̪͍̆̓̄̅̀͝ω̴̖͚̄̊̀.̵̢̥͈̪͎̙̊̇͜͜ ̶̧̗̫̲̱̘̭̰́͒͋̀͝ί̷̭͙̫̠͑ ̴̰̼̙̩̙̘̅̐̌̑̈̏̚α̸̡̼̣̭̫͙͊м̶̢̛̟̣̦̺̦̃̽̆̾ ̸̻͈̱̳͔̦̻̳͌̉́͊̓͊͝ͅη̶͈̪̹̟̤̩̲͕̋̏̐̇͂σ̶̤͇̗̙̫͇̣̩̾̆̊͊̚т̸͓͍̭̔ ̵̩̉̓я̷̧̻̫̎̂͑̅є̴̢͔̹͊̅̒͝м̷̛̛̫̼̹͚̑͑͑̾̓ͅὑ̶͙̞͑̇͊̏̀͛͂͆́ͅѕ̴͚͍̰̤̘͝.̵̨̙͙̀ ̸̺̭̱̑͛͘ι̴̨̦͚̗̯̙͌͐͌͝͝ ̵͎͎̺͎̱̭̱͈̞̐̄̀̓̎͝α̸͎̲̝͋͒͒͂̋̅͋͆̋͝м̶̤̖̳͓̖̪͚̏̓̍͐͊͘ ̶̛̥̤̒͒̍ῃ̵̧̤̼̟̞̠̜͔͐ͅσ̵̢̮͇̠͈͆̽̃т̷̤̣̤͔̐͝ ̵̧̛̜̹̹͎̠͍̗͚̱͆̌̈́́̈́̀̎͆̕я̷̛̛͕̂͛̍̔͑̑є̵̘͛͛̄̀̿͊̚м̴̠̈́͝ῡ̷̢̡͈̟͖̈́̀̍͆ѕ̵̨̤̻̰̮̺̓͗̌̌͑̎̕͘͝.̷͍̻̭̠̞̥͖͇̱̆̍̀̓͝͠ ̴̲̤̑̾͑̀̊͑͑͑̃ΐ̶̨̜͖̥̱̘̗́́̉́̐̌͊̕͝ ̴̪̫͈̭̝͖͍̤̄̎̂͆͌ἁ̶͚͓͇̺м̴̥̞̮̩͛-̸̨̟̘̯̭̏̾̓̔

𝒢ℴℴ𝒹 ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓃𝒾𝓃ℊ, 𝓉ℴ 𝓌𝒽ℴ𝓂ℯ𝓋ℯ𝓇 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝒷ℯ 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃ℊ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈. ℳ𝓎 𝓃𝒶𝓂ℯ 𝒾𝓈 ℛℯ𝓂𝓊𝓈 ℒ𝒶𝓈𝓁ℴ𝓌. 𝒩ℴ𝓌, 𝓌𝒽𝓎 𝒹ℴ𝓃’𝓉 𝓌ℯ ℊℯ𝓉 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓉ℴ 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃ℊ, 𝒽𝓂? ℐ 𝒸ℴ𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓈𝓌ℴ𝓇𝓃 ℐ 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒶 𝒷ℴℴ𝓀 𝓉ℴ 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓈𝒽.