p a d d y .

M-my neck. it sounds. like whistling. Worthy of. the Shoguns executioner. my blood spurts forth, the diagonal cut across my neck, keen like the wind in bare trees. They call it. Mogari-Bue. Flute of the Fallen Tiger! I always dreamed of making a cut that would sing. and now, i hear my own. such irony!



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