When a being finds itself transform into a shapeless specter, where does it go?
Death is difficult to define.
The vicissitude will embody the specter in one thousand of shapes. Someday it may encounter you in a bar of jazz in the falling city, or in the desert of deadland, or at the banquet attended by hundreds, or just at a plain dining table outside the kitchen.
You may fall in love with it. Whereas you may recognize an intact hero, most likely you will find it a pastiche of pieces.
Or you may hate it with and without awareness.
It makes no difference to the specter. Afterall, it is has been enjoying its staying at the TRUEKI, simply hoping the same joy comes to you upon your arrival.
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