#or write it ah

[maria-rayro]

If I was given a necklace every time Jonathan Tucker plays a character who adores and idolizes another character to the point where he would do anything for them, I would have at least two necklaces. which is not a lot, but still weird that it happened twice

[aropride]

[inkskinned]

because sometimes there are invisible tests and invisible rules and you're just supposed to ... know the rule. someone you thought of as a friend asks you for book recommendations, so you give her a list of like 30 books, each with a brief blurb and why you like it. later, you find out she screenshotted the list and send it out to a group chat with the note: what an absolute freak can you believe this. you saw the responses: emojis where people are rolling over laughing. too much and obsessive and actually kind of creepy in the comments. you thought you'd been doing the right thing. she'd asked, right? an invisible rule: this is what happens when you get too excited.

you aren't supposed to laugh at your own jokes, so you don't, but then you're too serious. you're not supposed to be too loud, but then people say you're too quiet. you aren't supposed to get passionate about things, but then you're shy, boring. you aren't supposed to talk too much, but then people are mad when you're not good at replying.

you fold yourself into a prettier paper crane. since you never know what is "selfish" and what is "charity," you give yourself over, fully. you'd rather be empty and over-generous - you'd rather eat your own boundaries than have even one person believe that you're mean. since you don't know what the thing is that will make them hate you, you simply scrub yourself clean of any form of roughness. if you are perfect and smiling and funny, they can love you. if you are always there for them and never admit what's happening and never mention your past and never make them uncomfortable - you can make up for it. you can earn it.

don't fuck up. they're all testing you, always. they're tolerating you. whatever secret club happened, over a summer somewhere - during some activity you didn't get to attend - everyone else just... figured it out. like they got some kind of award or examination that allowed them to know how-to-be-normal. how to fit. and for the rest of your life, you've been playing catch-up. you've been trying to prove that - haha! you get it! that the joke they're telling, the people they are, the manual they got- yeah, you've totally read it.

if you can just divide yourself in two - the lovable one, and the one that is you - you can do this. you can walk the line. they can laugh and accept you. if you are always-balanced, never burdensome, a delight to have in class, champagne and glittering and never gawky or florescent or god-forbid cringe: you can get away with it.

you stare at your therapist, whom you can make jokes with, and who laughs at your jokes, because you are so fucking good at people-pleasing. you smile at her, and she asks you how you're doing, and you automatically say i'm good, thanks, how are you? while the answer swims somewhere in your little lizard brain:

how long have you been doing this now? mastering the art of your body and mind like you're piloting a puppet. has it worked? what do you mean that all you feel is... just exhausted. pick yourself up, the tightrope has no net. after all, you're cheating, somehow, but nobody seems to know you actually flunked the test. it's working!

aren't you happy yet?

[dapper-lil-arts]

Ah the dichotomy of the Celestia family... The preps and the goths

[nine-aetharia]

i need swifties to shut the fuck up about 'oh so kendrick's disses can be analyzed for hidden meanings but we can't do the same for taylor songs' yeah bc that's not isolated to kendrick. subliminals and entendres abound in rap. taylor swift songs are as deep as a puddle while youre wearing flip flops and your feet still arent wet

[clarionglass]

here we go :) part one of three, updates to be released weekly!

---

sam says 4 (game master cinematic universe, part 3)

Ruby was at her mum's for a family dinner she couldn't miss on pain of death, apparently, and the Doctor was many things, but a family dinner kind of guy wasn't one of them—particularly when Carla had already slapped him once in the short time he'd known her. He thought he'd broken his streak of bad luck with mums, but… well, seemingly not. So he was companionless for a few hours, and while he could wait for her to get back, maybe catch up on his reading—what was the point of waiting when you had a time machine? 

He ran his hands over the TARDIS console, marvelling at her clean lines and metallic flourishes, the way that even now she felt brand new but familiar, and paused. He’d just pop off for a quick adventure, nothing too dangerous, but—where to go?

He could scan for a distress call nearby, and pitch in to help. He could drop in on Donna and Shaun and Rose, beautiful Rose, and see how they were all doing. Or he could just hit the randomiser button, and jump in feet first wherever he ended up.

He remembered a conversation from a long time ago, when he wore a different face, and his gorgeous TARDIS wore a face too, for the first and only time.

“You didn't always take me where I wanted to go.”

“No, but I always took you where you needed to go.”

He grinned. Who could resist an offer like that? He pressed the button and whooped as the time rotor spun into action, ready to see where the universe would take him.

---

Apparently, he was needed pretty close to where he already was. Earth, 2024. Huh. Same planet, same time—within a few months of where he’d left Ruby, even. The main thing that had changed was the location: he was now in the good old US of A. California, to be more specific, and Los Angeles to be more specific still. And to really narrow it down, the Doctor discovered as he poked his head out of the TARDIS doors, he was in… a broom closet. Not bad, as a parking spot—a bit squeezy, but out of the way. And as he poked his head out of that door, he could finally see he was in the backstage corridors of a studio of some kind. Film or TV, if he was to hazard a guess, it was a different vibe from Abbey Road.

With a shrug, he decided to go exploring.

It couldn’t have been more than a minute before a young woman wearing the full-black outfit, headset, and permanently stressed expression of a production assistant came running up to him.

“Are you the fill-in Sam organised?” she asked breathlessly, and honestly, seeing the look on her face, the Doctor didn’t have the heart(s) to tell her no. And really, what was the Doctor, if not a professional fill-in? This, this was why he had a randomiser button on the control panel, because whatever he was about to get himself into was going to be fun.

“Sure!”

“Oh, thank god,” sighed the production assistant, relief dawning across her face. “When Ally tested positive this morning, I thought we were sunk for the record, because we called around and we couldn’t get a hold of anyone. But then Sam said he could get someone in, and, you know, here you are, and just in time, so—ah, yeah, if you could follow me this way?”

Smiling all the way, the Doctor followed his guide through to hair and makeup, looking around as they went. The studio seemed to belong to a company called Dropout, according to the branding scattered around, and things seemed, at least on the surface, to be… well. Fine. He couldn't tell why he'd been brought here yet, which meant that when he found the reason, it was going to be particularly tangled. He couldn't wait! 

And then he looked back at his guide, still engulfed in a miasma of anxiety, and realised he'd been too busy looking for clues to notice the person right in front of him. 

“Hey, it's cool, you've found me,” he started with a gentle smile. “You can relax. Hi, I'm the Doctor. What's your name?”

“Oh!” she said, startled. “The Doctor, yeah, of course. Um, hi, I'm Kaylin. Look, sorry, it's just that I've been so busy this morning, I'm so distracted… Shit, and I would've completely forgotten to get your details too. There's paperwork to fill in, but you can do that later. Um, just for now, though, can I get your pronouns?”

The Doctor thought for a moment. “He/him, for now.”

Kaylin nodded, making a note on her phone. “Okay, cool! And do you have any socials?”

“Not me, babes,” he replied. “I'm hardly sitting down long enough to be able to update, you know?”

“On a day like this, I know exactly what you mean,” she said. “That's okay, Lou didn't have socials either for the longest time. Right, so if you go through there, the team will get you sorted, and once you're done, someone will take you up to the greenroom. All good?”

“All great,” the Doctor replied. Kaylin flashed him a quick, relieved smile, then hurried off.

Hair and makeup was a fairly quick process, the sound mixer fitted him with a microphone, and before too long, Kaylin was back to take him upstairs. 

“This is the greenroom,” she said, pushing the door open. “The rest of the cast for the episode are already here—they’re great guys, and they’ve both been on the show a lot, so they’ll be able to help if you’ve got questions. And if you need anything else, just come find me or any of the other PAs, okay?”

The Doctor nodded, beamed at Kaylin, and walked in.

---

The greenroom was small but comfortable, and its occupants, two men around the same age as the Doctor appeared, looked up as he entered.

“Oh, you’re new,” the taller of the pair said, clearly giving him the once-over.

The other sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, just as clearly used to his friend’s antics.

“Hey, I’m Brennan,” he said, levering himself up to standing from his perch on a chair arm, and holding out a hand. “That’s Grant.”

The Doctor took it warmly. “The Doctor. Just passing through, and happy to help.”

Grant’s eyebrows quirked. “Doctor… something?” he prompted.

“Or is it just ‘the Doctor’?” Brennan asked.

“Just ‘the Doctor’,” the Time Lord confirmed cheerfully. “You’ll get used to it, everyone does.”

Grant didn’t look convinced, but—

“Copy that,” Brennan shrugged, and settled back on the arm of the chair, returning his gaze to the door.

Grant, in turn, looked at the Doctor and rolled his eyes in a clear expression of ‘no, I don’t know why he’s like this, either’.

“Okay,” the Doctor said after a moment of watching the watching. “I wasn’t going to ask, but now I think I have to. What’s up with the door?”

Brennan huffed a laugh. “Well, the last time there was one of those up—” he pointed to the Out of Order sign stuck to the bathroom door, “—we got locked in here for the game.”

“He’s paranoid,” Grant interjected.

“Well, yeah, maybe,” Brennan retorted. “Or just cautious. Because Sam’s been acting weird lately, and we’re coming up to the last few records of the season, so he’s probably planning something way out of the box for the finale. And the original cast was you, me and Beardsley, so…”

He shrugged one shoulder meaningfully, and Grant nodded, conceding both the point and the potential for chaos.

“So if Sam comes in to give us the briefing, rather than waiting til we’re on set,” Brennan continued, “or there’s anything else weird going on, I’m gonna know about it right from the beginning.”

He turned to the Doctor. “The only reason I'm not quizzing you is because I know for a fact Beardsley was genuinely scheduled for this, so you can't be a plant by the production team. No offence.”

“None taken,” the Doctor smiled. “That sort of thing happen often, does it?”

Grant and Brennan exchanged a look. 

“More than you'd think,” Grant answered with a grimace. 

“Alright,” the Doctor said slowly, then brightened. “So what is it we're actually doing?”

Grant gave him a disbelieving glance. “You don't know—?”

“Very last minute fill-in,” the Doctor said breezily. “But don't worry, I'm a quick study.”

“Well, you're not that much worse off than the rest of us,” Brennan said encouragingly. “You know about Game Changer, obviously, if you know Sam, and we only find out the rules of the game once we get on set. Hopefully,” he added, with a dark look back at the Out of Order sign. 

The Doctor nodded. No, he didn't know Sam, and he didn't know Game Changer, but he could work out the situation from context clues. This was a game show. And with the Toymaker banished, and Satellite Five not coming into existence for another 198000 years, give or take, he found himself smiling. Maybe third time would be the charm. 

“Mmm, hopefully they aren't going to throw you in the deep end,” Grant said. “Because Brennan might seem lovely now, but as soon as we get out there, he's a whore for points. He'll stab you in the back and won't even blink.”

Brennan barked with laughter. “Yeah, and you wouldn't?”

“Excuse you, I'm always a goddamn delight,” Grant replied, the very picture of injured dignity. 

“Oh, absolutely!” agreed a new voice. The Doctor turned to the now-open door to see a bearded man in a pinstriped suit smiling broadly. “That's why we keep inviting you back!”

Grant bowed sarcastically. “Why, thank you, Sam. Good to know I'm appreciated by someone here.”

“Always,” Sam replied, gently but firmly ending that particular path of the conversation. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit up when they landed on the Doctor. 

“Ah, you must be the Doctor!” he said with obvious delight, walking over with his hand outstretched. “I'm Sam—thanks for filling in for us, you've made sure we're going to have a good show. Seriously, it's a pleasure to have you here.”

“Aw, cheers!” the Doctor smiled, shaking the offered hand. “Glad I could help out, I'm really looking forward to this!”

“Well, great!” Sam exclaimed, then took a step back, regarding all three players in turn. “Now, folks, I'm just letting you know that we're just about ready to start the record, so if you can start heading down, that'd be great.”

Grant and Brennan nodded—Brennan, the Doctor noticed, with relief. 

“See you down there,” Sam said, smiling. “Have a great show, and—”

His eyes caught on the Doctor's for a second, twinkling. 

“Good luck.”

---

Backstage, the Doctor, Brennan and Grant were marshalled into podium order and given a final briefing from the crew. And then, with a thumbs-up from Kaylin, that was it.

Showtime.

“Get ready for a Game Changer!” came Sam's voice from onstage. “Tonight’s guests: he can shoot off a monologue with laser accuracy; it’s Brennan Lee Mulligan!”

Brennan, his back to the camera as the curtains opened, spun on his heel and, with a stone-cold expression, pointed finger guns straight down the barrel, before letting the facade crack open. “Hi!” he exclaimed, and walked over to the leftmost podium.

“It’s his first appearance, but he’s already on fire; it’s the Doctor!”

The Doctor leant against the archway to the stage and flashed a broad smile towards the camera, then in a few skipping steps, had bounded over to the next free podium. What the hell, why not make an entrance?

“And even in the toughest of mazes, you’ll always be able to find him; it’s Grant O’Brien!”

Grant dipped his lanky frame into an approximation of a curtsey, spreading his arms wide, then sauntered over to the closest podium with a grin.

“And your host, me!” Sam announced, a ring of manic white showing around his irises as he beamed down the barrel of the camera. “I’ve been here the whole time!”

“This,” he continued, pushing his microphone shut and stowing it in his jacket pocket, “is Game Changer, the only game show where the game changes every show. I am your host, Sam Reich!” 

As he said his name, he looked at his hands, front and back, as if he was pleasantly surprised to be himself, then gestured towards the three podiums.

“I am joined today by these three lovely contestants! Now, you understand how the game works.”

“Of course not,” Grant started. “You know we don't.”

“We can't, Sam, that's the whole point of the theatre you've set up here,” Brennan said over him. 

“Not yet,” was all the Doctor said, anticipation starting to drum a tattoo of excitement against the inside of his ribcage. 

“That’s right!” Sam said brightly, shooting finger guns at the camera. “Our players have no idea what game it is they’re about to play. The only way to learn is by playing. The only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning! So without further ado, let’s begin by giving each of our players fifty points.”

The Doctor, biding his time, watched the reactions of his fellow contestants. Grant looked at the front of his podium, checking the point total, and nodding approvingly when he saw that yes, it was sitting at a round fifty. Brennan, on the other hand, was starting to frown.

“Players, Sam says: touch your nose,” Sam began, and Brennan sighed the sigh of someone who wasn’t happy to be proved right.

“Oh, no,” he groaned. “Oh, you son of a bitch. Wasn’t one this season enough?”

He touched his nose anyway, as did the others, and Sam smiled encouragingly. “Sam says: touch your ear.”

When they all did, Sam nodded. “Touch your other ear.”

Everybody held still, fingers on the ears they had originally touched.

Sam beamed. “Easy, players, right?”

“You say that now,” Brennan said darkly. “Which makes it worse, because all you're doing is setting us up for failure.”

Sam gasped, pretending offence. “Would I do that?”

“Yes,” Brennan and Grant replied in unison, which drew a grin from the Doctor and set Sam off chuckling.

“And I'm not having it,” Brennan continued, leaning his elbows against his podium and pointing at Sam with the hand not touching his ear. “You better watch yourself, because I know how this game works, and you're not going to get one over on me.”

“Strong words, Brennan!” Sam said, clearly delighted by this response. “Okay, then, let's start making things a bit more interesting!”

The game continued as per Sam Says usual, some rounds done as a group and some individual. Points were won, sure, but lost slightly more frequently, and even the Doctor found he was having to concentrate to avoid getting caught in the host's traps. 

It was fun. Genuinely, it was like playing a game with friends, and the Doctor felt himself leaning into it. There wasn't any sign of danger—maybe there wasn't a mystery to solve at all, and the TARDIS just decided he needed a total break. 

Well, probably not. But the way things were going, he was able to let himself hope. 

“Alright, players,” Sam said a good few rounds in, just as pleasantly as he would start any other question, and the screen behind him dinged as a new prompt popped up. “Survive the death beam.”

For a second, everything was frozen perfectly still. 

And then came the crash, the explosive noise of heavy machinery moving relentlessly through a drywall set.

The Doctor was already moving. “Everyone down!”

“Duck!” Brennan yelled at the same time.

The two of them hit the ground within milliseconds of each other, but Grant was still paralysed in the face of the giant, science-fiction type laser cannon that had just ploughed through the wall. 

It whined ominously, screaming its way to fever pitch. And then a sharp pain in Grant’s ankle made him stagger, pitching forwards onto the carpet behind the podiums as the Doctor rolled away to avoid getting pinned.

“Sorry, babes,” the Doctor whispered. “But it was either kick you to get you down, or—”

A hideous metallic screech ripped through the air, and all three of them could feel the crackle of ozone as a beam of energy swept across what had, moments ago, been neck height.

“…Or that,” the Doctor finished with a grimace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Grant breathed, suddenly very conscious of every inch of his 6’9 frame. “Thanks.”

“Well done, players!” Sam exclaimed delightedly from above them. “But… sorry, I didn’t say ‘Sam says’, so that’s a point off for everyone.”

“What the fuck!” Brennan snapped.

“Are you actually insane?” Grant demanded at the same time, his voice overlapping with Brennan’s.

In response, Sam just wheezed with laughter. “You can come back to your podiums,” he said, cheerfully ignoring them.

Nobody moved.

“Very good!” he acknowledged, and even without seeing his face, the grin was obvious in his voice. “Okay, Sam says: come back to your podiums.”

Although the words were innocuous, and his tone was just as light and breezy as usual, there was nevertheless an edge hiding just underneath the surface. And while the death beam loomed large in the minds of all three players, it was impossible to consider disobedience as an option.

Slowly, they stood, returning to their places. Now they had the time to look at it properly, the death beam was even more sinister, and Brennan and Grant both kept flicking nervous glances its way, ready to move if it looked like it was charging up again.

The Doctor, however, was focused purely on the man standing in front of them. Unbothered, Sam met his gaze like a challenge, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.

“Oh, you’ll love this one,” he said, and the screen changed. “Sam says, starting with Grant: say my name.”

Grant frowned in confusion, but answered quickly nonetheless. “Sam Reich?”

The man himself shrugged tolerantly, moving on. “Brennan?”

Brennan just stared at him coolly. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“Well caught, Brennan!” Sam said happily. “Sam says: say my name.”

“Sam,” Brennan replied, suspicion clear in his voice. “Samuel Dalton Reich.”

He nodded, still with a hint of indifference. “And lastly, Doctor.” His smile broadened. “Sam says: say my name.”

It was easy. Too easy. And as the Doctor looked into the eyes of the man calling himself Sam Reich, he felt his hearts stutter in recognition, because something had changed. He wasn’t hiding himself anymore, and while the face was different yet again, the Doctor would know the shape of that soul anywhere. It was impossible. It was inevitable.

“You can’t be,” he breathed. 

Sam smirked, leaning in across his podium. “Oh, but Doctor… I’ve been here the whole time,” he stage-whispered with a wink.

“He said you lost,” the Doctor said, shaking his head, looking wrong-footed for the first time that Brennan and Grant could recall. “You lost, and he trapped you.”

The other two watched, uncomprehending, but Sam just smiled, drumming his fingers against the podium with an audible beat, fast but distinct. Four taps, four taps, four taps. “I’m waiting.”

The Doctor took a slow, deep breath. Set his jaw. 

��Master.”

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): you are here!

[typing-catastrophe]

Stanford Pines x reader headcanons

💕 fluff

touch starved. like severely

so startled whenever he and someone else accidentally touch

close proximity makes him really nervous

he so isn't used to it

at first it's because he doesn't really know how to behave around other people in a normal setting anymore; but once he develops feelings for you, that mans brain just shuts down once you're too close to him

full on blushing, stammering, no thoughts head empty kinda thing

i mean how could he not, did you look at yourself??

his nicknames for you would be 'darling', 'dear', 'love' and something science-y and/or geek related

(imagine when he starts writing in his journals he calls you 'prince/ss unattainabelle' because he thinks you could never like him like that)

will not recover from seeing you in his red sweater

can't stand seeing you get hurt, blames himself when you do while on missions/adventures with him

will take great care of your wounds and checks on you regularly while recovering

if he only cared that much for his own well being

designing and gifting little things to show his love; definitely welds you a bouquet of you favourite flowers

loves the way your hands fit into his

makes space in his work room for you to hang out there (both doing your own thing but being together)

at first insecure about his kissing abilities, but gets sooo addicted to kissing you not soon after

literally melts when you run your fingers through his hair (extra points when his head rest on your lap or chest)

-------------------------------------------------- thank you for reading <3 reblogs are appreciated

[originalartblog]

Tiny skk adventures!

not like they're also cranky and tired and touch-starved

[sky-is-the-limit]

'Neighbourly advice.'

Captain Price x F!Reader

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘦𝘹 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥. ��𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦.

𝘊𝘞: 𝘜𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘖𝘳𝘢𝘭 (𝘳), 𝘗𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦/𝘋𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬, 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵.

𝘞𝘊: 5,282 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴.

𝘕𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴: 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦.

𝘈 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘵����𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵, 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘢 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘣 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘵𝘢𝘱-𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘹.

''𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘶𝘤𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥. 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦-''

𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘺 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬.

𝘈𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘤𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘨𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦.

𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴, 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘬𝘺 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦. 𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘨𝘰, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.

𝘐𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘺, 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘺 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘬.

𝘐𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯. 𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰. 𝘠𝘰𝘶, 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘺𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘣𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘵.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘣 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘪 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵-𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘫𝘰𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳, 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘪𝘤 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘮 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺.

𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶. '𝘈' 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.

𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝘜𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯, 𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴. 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶?

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯, 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘶𝘦, 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘶𝘱, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘤𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘧𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘮.

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘬, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘣, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯'𝘴 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘦𝘶𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦.

𝘊𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘤𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘹 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦.

𝘕𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘤 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯? 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵.

''𝘈𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦?'' 𝘊𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘭𝘺𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘤 𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘶𝘱𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘈𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴.

''𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘩, 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺. 𝘗𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳, 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘵.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘭𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 20 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳.

𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦���𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘊𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘧𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘳.

''𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴?'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 '𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥', 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯.

''𝘌𝘹. 𝘜𝘩, 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘹, 𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘖𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦, 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵.'' 𝘔𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘴, 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬.

''𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯?'' 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘶𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘬𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘦.

''𝘐𝘧 𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦.'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

''𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘐 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘥𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘚𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵.

𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥. 𝘕𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘞𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦? 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵.

''𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘮?'' 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦, 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘣𝘰𝘹 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘣𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴.

''𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸? 𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵, 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

''𝘏𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘵 𝘪𝘵, 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭.'' 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘵. 𝘉𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵.

''𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯?'' 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦.

''𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘱 𝘱𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.'' 𝘚𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘭𝘰𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘥, 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵, 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘻𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘸.

''𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺- 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯?'' 𝘐𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

''𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘸, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.'' 𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬. 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘳, 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘰𝘭𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦.

''𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵- 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥-'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘴𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘧𝘦𝘸 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘦.

''𝘎𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦? 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥, 𝘐'𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳.'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦, 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

''𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨.'' 𝘈 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘴𝘭𝘦.

''𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵? 𝘐𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘵?'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘨𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦.

''𝘚𝘰 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘵? 𝘚𝘰 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.'' 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳, 𝘢 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘱𝘦, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘶𝘮.

''𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶?'' 𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯.

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

''𝘜𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵.'' 𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘦, 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥.

''𝘠𝘦𝘴..'' 𝘈 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵.

''𝘠𝘦𝘴, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵?'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘨𝘰, 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘺𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘮 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵.

''𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶- 𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶..'' 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘦 ��𝘧 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵, 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

''𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘠/𝘕?'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘈 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘵.

''𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦..'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦.

''𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭?'' 𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘣𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘳, 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘣𝘦, 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩.

''𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺.

''𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯.'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘺𝘱𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤, 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯, 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘧𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥.

''𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨.'' 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘫𝘢𝘸, 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵.

𝘐𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵'𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥. 𝘖𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘺. 𝘕𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥. 𝘐𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦.

𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘫𝘢𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬, 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘯 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦.

''𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭-'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 ���𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵, 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘴𝘴, 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘴.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩, 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳.

''𝘕𝘦𝘦𝘥- 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯-'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵-𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘹 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴. 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘵, 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘰𝘦𝘴, 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘥 ''𝘍𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺.''

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦. 𝘈 𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘰𝘱.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘤 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘴, 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯, 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘯’𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦.

''𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬-'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘮𝘱 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺.

𝘈 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳-𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘱 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩.

𝘈 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘥, 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴.

𝘋𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘣𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘱, 𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩.

''𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.'' 𝘌𝘹𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘻𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘺.

''𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺.

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺.

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘻𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦.

''𝘍𝘶𝘤𝘬, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘦-'' 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳. 𝘐𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝘙𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵, 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬. 𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘵, 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝘐𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘰𝘳, 𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯.

𝘏𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘶𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘵.

𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘹 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴.

𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧-𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘦, 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴, 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺, 𝘥𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘤 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘤𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺, 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘺, 𝘢 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘩𝘭𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘶𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦, 𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴, 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮.

𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴, 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴.

𝘗𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦’𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥, 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬, 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴, 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵.

𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘵, 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵.

''𝘔𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭.'' 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘶𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭, 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳.

𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘶, 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘮 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦, 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘦𝘥–𝘦𝘶𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳, 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬–𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘵, 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘦𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘬.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

“𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.'' 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘦𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘱 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦.

𝘌𝘹𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘵, 𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵.

''𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘭?'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘣𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴.

𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬 “𝘝” 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘦, 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮 𝘭𝘪𝘱 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘺, 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘱, 𝘷𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘭𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘶��𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝘋𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘵𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺.

''𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦-'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘬 𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦.

''𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭?'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘬𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵. 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥, 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘸𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥.

''𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯.'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘰𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 with 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥.

''𝘚𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭.'' 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺, 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘣𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘱𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢����𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘭 ��𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦, 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘻𝘦, 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘤𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺, 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘴 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴.

“𝘑𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘴, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥-” 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵, 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯.

𝘏𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘶𝘤𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵.

𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘣 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘶𝘱 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘦𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦. 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬, 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘔𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘴, 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘳𝘩𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘮.

𝘗𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴. ''𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦-''

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦, 𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘤𝘳𝘺 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.

𝘏𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘬. 𝘏𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥, 𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵, 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘥. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨. ''𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘦, 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯.''

𝘛𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥, 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘭𝘣𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘤𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘤𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘬, 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩, 𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯'𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴, 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

''𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵��� 𝘧𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵, 𝘩𝘮?'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘥, 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘴𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬, 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵. 𝘏𝘦 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣, 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

''𝘖𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐'𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘦-'' 𝘌𝘯𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

''𝘍𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯- 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬- 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦. 𝘖𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦-'' 𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯, 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦. 

''𝘖𝘩 𝘮𝘺-'' 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘰𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘴. 𝘈𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘥𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.

𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘦𝘥, 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩, 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵, 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘣 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘭𝘺, 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘭 𝘰𝘶𝘵, 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺.

𝘞𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘤𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘺 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘕𝘰𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘩.

𝘈 𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵, 𝘴𝘰 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘳.

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘮 𝘴𝘶𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯, 𝘴𝘩𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶.

𝘑𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭.

𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘵, 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦, 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦.

𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘳𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩.

''𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.'' 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘮𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥, 𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘢𝘳. ''𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱.''

[nibbelraz]

A writer and His number one fan hater

[comicaurora]

Do you have any advice for trying to avoid ripping off other people's works in original stories? I've been stuck in a weird writers block where anything I do to try and string plots together end up just being plots of other stuff I've read. Is that a problem you've come across before?

Honestly? This might be a hot take, but just get it out of your system. Write the story that's just your three favorite plots in a trenchcoat. Any writing will make you better at writing. To me, this is the storytelling equivalent of doing frame redraws or art style challenges. Art done for practice doesn't need to be free of all influence, and in fact pursuing that total originality is detrimental to the learning process because it forces you to continuously reinvent the wheel.

In my experience, through the process of just writing what you want to write how you want to write it, you'll find both that it's easier to find originality in the execution than you expected, and that originality has very little correlation with what makes a story good. When you go to write the plot you recognize as the plot of something else, you'll probably find yourself making changes. A different character moment to highlight an overlooked concept that spoke to you, a slightly more cruel twist of fate for a character to wrangle. Little original concepts will find their way in, because having ideas is the driving motivator behind creating art. It's always there, even if it's being sneaky or uncooperative.

Most of the time, inspiration is less "this story is good I think I'll replicate it in every detail" and more "I love parts A, B and C of this story, which tells me valuable information about the kinds of story elements I find compelling, which helps me guide my own writing towards things that involve the parts I like most about A, B and C." You'll always be able to recognize your own influences, but from the audience's external perspective, the you-ness that defines your art is much more obvious than it'll ever be to you.

[strangerstilinski]

can you pretty please do [intimidation] with eddie

🥺👉👈

[INTIMIDATION] sender, in an effort to frighten the receiver by invading their personal space, sits in their lap to try and inspire discomfort or fear in them.

cw: alcohol consumption, fem!reader, sort of enemies -> lovers (but actually idiots -> lovers), 2.4k

dividers by @strangergraphics

You're blocking the doorway into the Harrington kitchen, shoulder leaned against the wood panelling where you have a good view into the living room. Your unimpressed glare is drawn from the figure currently hogging the sofa when someone bumps into you just as you're bringing the plastic cup in your hand to your lips.

"Jesus, fucking watch it-" The outrage in your tone fades quick when you see who's run into you.

"Sorry." Jonathan grimaces as he watches you wipe a bit of juice and vodka from your chin.

"No, it's fine," You sigh and turn on your heel, following Jonathan into the kitchen as he begins to grab things to make himself a drink, though it appears to be far more lemon-lime soda and grenadine than anything else. "Sorry, I just.. I dunno, sorry." You shrug before gulping down another mouthful of your own admittedly strong drink. You're kind of hoping that once your buzz kicks in you'll feel just a little less like there's a storm cloud floating right above your head.

"What is with you, tonight?" Jonathan asks with an overly cautious smile, "I haven't seen Munson bug you even once, so it's gotta be somethin' else-"

"Nothing," You huff, a little defensive at just the mention of the other boy, "I'm fine."

"Oh yeah, totally," Jonathan chuckles and raises his newly acquired drink in a salute, "You're like a ray of sunshine tonight."

It's annoying as hell, but he's right. You're fuming and Eddie has yet to even speak to you. He's been avoiding you like the plague from the moment you walked through the door, as if Eddie could somehow sense that you were already in a mood, and he didn't feel like getting told off for being the reason that you finally snapped.

Because normally, Eddie would've found at least seven ways he could irritate you by now. He'd have finished the last of the juice he saw you eyeing for your next mixed drink and laughed maniacally when you pouted about it. He'd have pestered you about whether you might want to join in on another campaign, all while making a handful of little comments about just how easy it'll be for him to decimate your character when you do. He'd have watched you shiver while you passed passed a joint back and forth by the pool, and then draped his stupid jacket around your shoulders just so he could roll his eyes and give you shit about not dressing warmly enough.

Eddie was infuriating — And the worst part was that he knew it. The asshole thrived on pushing buttons and testing people's limits, but tonight evidently he'd been able to tell that you were already toeing dangerously close to yours and had steered clear altogether.

You peer back out into the living room now, narrowed eyes zeroing back in on the figure sprawled across the entire length of the loveseat, socked feet kicked up on the opposite cushion where someone else could be sitting if he weren't such a selfish prick.

"God, what an asshole." You grumble, downing the last of your drink and grabbing the nearest bottle to begin mixing another. "I mean, look at him, seriously. Does he have to take up the whole couch?"

Jonathan's gaze follows the path your own had taken moments before, and he snorts in amusement, "Eddie."

It's not a question, but you answer him as if it had been.

"Yes, Eddie." Another quick glance up into the living room has your eyes locking with the man in question just as his name falls from your lips.

Eddie's eyes go wide, his cheeks dimpling with his sudden grin. He jabs his index finger into his chest, lips moving silently around the words, "Who? Me?"

"Uh-huh.. Why don't you go do something about it?" Jonathan teases.

Eddie's attention is pulled away when Gareth says something from his spot in an armchair. Whatever he says it gets Eddie riled up and he's immediately talking animatedly, hands gesturing wildly as he speaks.

"Maybe I will." You're already moving with purpose, halfway out of the kitchen when you hear your friend shout after you.

"I was joking!"

"Well I'm not!" You call back over your shoulder.

It's darker as you step into the living room, overhead lights off in favor of utilizing the warmer glow from the the lamp tucked away in the corner. You have to step over Eddie's discarded shoes at the foot of the sofa, and the boy very nearly knocks your drink out of your hand when you step in front of him, too distracted by his own tirade to have seen your approach.

But his head snaps up toward you as your thigh brushes his arm. Whatever he's been saying, the words cut off abruptly at the realization of who it is standing beside him.

"Well hey there, princess." He shoots you a toothy grin — You assume it's meant to be charming, but it only irritates you further. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

You ignore Eddie in favor of casting a small smile of apology toward Gareth, "Sorry to interrupt."

"Nah, no worrie-"

"No, no! You didn't interrupt. We were done." Eddie cuts his friend off, "Gareth was just telling me he was gonna go take a piss, actually."

Gareth splutters for a moment, but when his eyes shift from you to Eddie he's suddenly rising from his chair. You watch Gareth shake his head as he steps around you before he stalks off without a word.

"What was that about?" You can't help but ask in curiosity.

"Beats me. Really had to piss, I guess." Eddie says quickly, sitting up a little straighter against the arm of the couch. He throws an arm out to gesture to Gareth's recently vacated chair, "Did you wanna-"

Rather than taking advantage of the empty seat, you plop yourself across Eddie's thighs unceremoniously, feeling oddly satisfied by the huff of surprise that escapes him when your weight is suddenly in his lap.

The way the warmth of his body seeps into your own is near immediate, even through two layers of denim. Your arm presses into his chest as you lean back into the cushion of the sofa, trying and failing to remain unaffected by his proximity. He smells infuriatingly good this close, clean and masculine with just a lingering hint of the weed he'd smoked earlier in the night. It makes your stomach flutter wildly, makes your head swim for half a second before you're lifting your cup to your mouth in an effort to compose yourself.

Eddie huffs softly and his breath fans out over your exposed shoulder, warm and smelling faintly of cheap beer and menthols. Goosebumps prickle along the length of your arm, hairs standing on end suddenly. You wish you could convince yourself that your body's reaction were one of repulsion, but deep down you know that its something far, far worse than that.

"You.. You're just gonna.. sit.. here?" Eddie asks, voice a little wobbly, unsure.

His knuckles brush your thigh, likely an accident, but one sidelong glare has his hand retreating to the relative safety of the couch cushion in a flash.

"Yep."

You can see outside to the patio from your position, and you focus your attention to the group sitting with their feet in the pool. The sheer amount of effort it takes to keep your eyes trained there, rather than allowing them to drift to where Eddie's hand twitches near your knee-

"Do- Did you want me to move my legs? Do you want-" He shifts underneath you like he's ready to pull his feet from the cushion at the other end, but you remain resolutely in place.

"Nope, I'm good."

You have absolutely no plans of moving any time soon. You'd remain seated right here in Eddie's lap until his bladder was ready to burst, until your weight made his legs fall asleep and tingle from lack of blood flow, until he was ready to grab you by your hips and force you into another seat.

He'd learn his lesson. The inconsiderate couch-hogging asshole.

"O..kay." Eddie says slowly, wiping his palm on the side of his own denim-clad hip, as if his hands might've gotten a little sweaty.

Were you making him warm? Good.

"So.." Eddie pauses. You catch a glimpse of his face scrunching in thought at the corners of your vision before he continues, "Any big plans for the weekend?"

With how close you're sat, Eddie is speaking almost directly into your ear. There's no need for him to raise his voice to be heard, and you find that the low rumble of it is nice, soothing almost. It curls around your ears and sends something warm shooting down your spine.

"Killing boys." You return dryly, eyes straining now in an effort to remain focussed on what's going on in the backyard.

Eddie snorts, body jolting underneath you with his amusement — And his almost-laughter absolutely does not make your chest flush with pride. You couldn't care less whether or not Eddie Munson finds you funny. As if.

"Oh, so nothing out of the ordinary for you then."

Eddie chuckles and the tip of his thumb finds its way to the place where your thigh presses into his. You can't tell if it's accidental or on purpose, but the gentle press of his finger maybe kind of makes your stomach flip pleasantly, so you allow it. Whatever.

You hum in agreement, "Yeah, well. There's almost always some boy who deserves it."

"I don't doubt it," Eddie murmurs with a wide grin, his head tipped sideways over the back of the couch, cheek nearly brushing your shoulder now, "Anyone I know currently at the top of your list, madame assassin?"

"There is this one asshole." You pause to take a sip of your drink, fighting off a grimace at the awful liquor to juice ratio. "He's loud. And irritating. Just loves getting on my last nerve-"

"Long hair?"

The interruption has your eyes rolling, "Yep. Walks around looking like some Van Halen wannabe."

"Oh, he sounds cool."

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice now.

"Well he's not." You return blankly. "He's always trying to get a rise outta me, acting like a total prick-"

"Hold on, hold on-" Eddie cuts you off again, "Now I'm not so sure we're on the same page. Thought I knew who you were talkin' about, but-"

"Oh, you know him." You grumble, sinking farther into the plush cushion on the back of the couch with your drink clutched to your chest. "You know him well, trust me."

Eddie shifts beneath you, angling both himself and you until he's taking up more of your line of sight than the patio doors. His big brown eyes bore into you until you crack and flick your gaze toward him.

"Here's the thing.." Eddie starts, the pad of his thumb stroking the seam on the outside of your knee. "Maybe this guy's just pushing your buttons because he likes when all of your attention is on him-"

The arm he has thrown over the back of the couch by your shoulder moves then, brushing your hair back from your temple only to backtrack and trail the pads of his fingers featherlight over the space between your brows.

"-Maybe.. Shit, I dunno, maybe he likes the way your eyebrows come together when you're angry-"

Your heart is beating so loud you can hear the blood pumping in your ears. The urge to fidget under his attention is strong, but you sit at still as possible in fear of breaking the spell. You have to strain to hear Eddie's next words over the dull whoosh of your heartbeat echoing in your skull.

"Maybe he thinks you look kinda devastatingly beautiful-"

"You-" And, fuck. Did your voice just crack? "You're trying to tell me you think this guy is, what? Being a dick because he likes me? Pulling my pigtails on the playground and shit?"

Eddie's grin is less cocky than you've ever seen it. His lips twitch at one side of his mouth. He almost looks nervous.

You take a deep breath as his fingers skim over your jaw on their way back toward your hair, where he pinches a small lock between two fingers and tugs twice, oh-so gentle.

"What if he was?" Eddie asks softly, "Being a dick because he likes you, I mean."

"I'd tell you he's an idiot." You manage, plastic cup crinkling under the increased pressure of your hand.

Eddie winces, but nods and averts his gaze. His arm falls to the back to the sofa again, close enough for you to feel the warmth of it beside your shoulder.

"But.." You have to swallow down a smile when Eddie's wide eyes snap right back to yours. "Maybe this idiot's attraction isn't totally one-sided. So, maybe he should stop being an asshole and try making a move."

Eddie blinks. Once, then twice. He squares his shoulders and leans in like he might kiss you, but then he backs off again and searches your eyes as if he's terrified he might be reading the entire situation wrong.

"Eddie." You whisper sharply, "The idiot is you, asshole."

"Oh, Jesus Christ, thank god."

And then his fingers are curled gently around the back of your neck. His hand is fully grasping your opposite thigh as he tries to drag you impossibly closer. His plush lips are pressing softly into your own, the taste of beer mixing with vodka and citrus.

It's a quick kiss, chaste. Your mouths only remain glued together for all of three seconds before he's leaning back just enough to watch you blink at him from beneath heavy lashes. You can't imagine how stupidly docile you look; brows pushed up your forehead, chest nearly heaving beneath your shirt, jaw slack, lips parted and waiting for more. It's pathetic how he's managed to turn you into this with just one G-Rated kiss.

The hand on the back of your neck moves to your face, fingertips tracing the smooth line of your brow before trailing back down to cup your cheek.

"Yeah.. Yeah, this is nice too." Eddie murmurs, "You're awful pretty when you're mad, but this.. This right here is somethin' else."

"You're so annoying." It comes out airy, absolutely no bite to your words.

"Oh, that's not changing, sweetheart. Matter of fact, I think it's a part of our spark. Gotta keep the fire burning, right? I'll keep annoying you, you'll keep getting angry-"

"Would you just shut up and kiss me again?"

Eddie grins, already leaning in, "Sure thing."

[you-know-i-get-itt]

people will be like “hey. hey. what if this beloved character was DEAD” and then they’ll write a fic about it and the rest of the fandom will collectively go “no!!!” while reblogging and saving it

[dapper-lil-arts]

Wrote a small fic about Chrysalis trying to rizz Celestia up lol

[plistommy]

No one needs to know that Steve lets the known Eddie ’The Freak’ Munson and known alpha fuck him.

No one.

No one needs to know how he begs for his big knot. How he cries and whines with so much desire once the older boy is inside him. How he even sometimes tells Eddie that he loves him in the middle of it when him and his omega are pleased. Content.

No one needs to know how Eddie teases his fangs across his neck, right where he could just bite and mark Steve up, making the omega his.

No one knows how much Steve wants it.

[404leafclover]

my favorite part of the finale was when they kissed