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The Misunderstood Revolutionary

Here I am again. In a cold room, warming my bare hands and feet with the slice of silver light from one of the six moons coming through the window. Yavlin was generous to give me his best guards, not the fools who ate up my rhetoric last time. I laugh at the memory darkly; how many societies must I liberate before Yavlin will take me seriously? Do you know how depressing it is to not even be considered dangerous enough to get proper cell? Sheesh.
This time is more like it. He pulled out all the stops. A hard, stone floor to dig into my butt? Shackles around my wrists, ankles, and neck as well? Gelatinous food and cloudy water? Demoralizing. Deprivation of sound? All this will surely drive me insane.
Last time, Yavlin tried to bait me with Gremel, and told me all the things he'd do to her if I didn't tell me what I planned to do. Yavlin's stupid. If he really cared that I was planning to liberate the oppressed Hillinites of the Zemzel galaxy, he would have known that I'd broke up with Gremel years before and that she'd never loved me, not even as a friend. Do you see my issue? I've traveled the galaxies through and I've found that everyone's the same. They pretend to care that you're going to mess things up, but they don't give a damn. That's why I am so happy that Yavlin has finally given me a cell that's cold and dark and damp. I finally feel that Yavlin is getting me at last. To destroy a revolutionary, you have to destroy the very darkness that keeps them together.
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Further into the walls

Autumn is the most magical of seasons. As its Amber feeling was sweeping through the reddened bushes, the birds held their breath while a noise moved under the fallen leaves. A slither swayed by Oak and Birch, under a drowned sky, approached what was fleetingly fleeing, jumping from branch to branch, with its light claws and agile frame. A dark reptile, pride in its fangs, a glint in the ember eyes, crossed the humid glade in a sinusoidal pattern. Disregarding the anxious animals in the trees, it soon found its target, and with resolutely cold eyes, glided forwards to its location.
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Child of Death

It was Death who leisurely walked down the street of a quiet neighborhood. Death appeared normal, a young girl one would see playing happily with other children. The only hint that this was, in fact, not a young girl to be talking to was the look on her face. She had the expression of a person in agonizing loneliness. Her eyes were blank and emotionless, her mouth a thin line. This is why as soon as Death had appeared, walking in this seemingly perfect neighborhood, every parent ushered their child inside and locked the door. As everyone could guess, Death had an agenda. She carefully walked up the street before turning abruptly towards a particularly cheerful looking home. Death strode up to the front door and knocked thrice, then waited. The man who answered was unfortunate, as well as unaware of his awaiting fate. He looked at Death with a quizzical expression, "Yes?"

Death stared up at the man before opening her mouth to speak these dreaded words, "You will die tomorrow and you will deserve it."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away from the now shaking man, moving down the street to her next victim.
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The right man

Later the company commander called the sergeant aside. "Some of the men think you're a little too rough on them. They asked me to talk to you." His expression was serious, but there was a knowing gleam in his eyes. The sergeant knew this was just a formality. "Captain you know as well as I do that these men, especially the green ones, need to fear me more than the enemy,hate me even, if necessary. How the hell else can I expect 'em to obey me when I tell them to run into the line of fire?" His harsh voice rose in anger before he caught himself. "Um, sorry sir." The captain just smiled and Thanked the sergeant before walking casually away.
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