Ok, now that Assassin's school has started, I figured I should make this. Talk away!
He stumbled slightly, the limp in his leg still there. He dared not to look at the place he used to call home. He could feel the heat from the fire, the fire that he himself had ignited. He blinked back tears, as he limped away.
I was weeping as much for him as her; we do sometimes pity creatures that have none of the feeling either for themselves or others. — Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights
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