...I can't rate it because I can't understand it...
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.
When she transformed into a butterfly, the caterpillars spoke not of her beauty, but of her weirdness. They wanted her to change back into what she always had been. But she had wings. — Dean Jackson
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