These Words are Not My Own
Autumn Blaze frowned at the grid of boxes she’d sketched out onto a piece of paper. The numbers inside of those boxes seemed to frown back at her. They were teasing her, taunting her, and she was starting to think that Cinder Glow’s latest puzzle was simply unsolvable. Nothing seemed to work, and she’d been at it for close to an hour now. And this one was the thirtieth she’d gotten to today.
She stomped her hoof on the paper and crumpled it up. She wanted to growl in frustration, to scream or make any sound, but her vocal chords were paralyzed. The most sound she could muster was the whistling of air through her flared nostrils, no matter how much she tried to shout. It was maddening, and the deathly silence that gripped her happy village day in and day out wormed its way deeper into her skull. Pff, ‘happy’. Nopony felt much of anything these days save herself, it seemed. And even then, she couldn’t bring voice to her frustrations.
Her heartbeat began to echo in her ears, and the kirin slammed her gnarled horn against the table and flattened them with her hooves. Even more maddening than the silence was the beating of her own heart. It was a never-ending metronome designed solely to torment her, and she’d grown horribly acutely aware of every beat and flutter in its rhythm when she didn’t have anything to distract herself with. Even going back to the sudoku had suddenly become a much more enticing idea.
Autumn brought her hooves down on her desk and stood up, her tail swishing angrily. She tried huffing out of her nose just to create some noise to block out her damn heart. She looked around her place for something to do, anything to do, but nothing appealed to her. At least, nothing inside.
She turned her head to the door and immediately cantered toward it. A walk would be good. The fresh air would clear her head and the clopping of her hooves on the dirt would be a perfect accompaniment to the sounds of nature. Hopefully they’d drown out that incessant pounding in her skull.
The door glided open on squeaky hinges, and Autumn practically danced at the sound. Noise, noise, beautiful noise, no matter how it came, was all she wanted right now. And as she left her house behind, the beating of her heart faded into the background, replaced by the sounds of the world outside.
Autumn wasted no time trotting through her town. She passed by several of her fellow kirin, most sparing her a simple nod or a tail swish in greetings. Autumn tried to reply in kind, but even that little pleasantry was infuriating. All she saw when she saw her neighbors were little emotionless kirin golems that mimicked some poor facsimile of their previous life. How did they keep themselves entertained and under control? Didn’t they hear the beating of their hearts too, that endless hammering on the inside of their skulls? How did they put up with it?
Autumn winced and picked up her pace. She almost heard it again. She could feel it lurking in the back of her brain, ready to torment her again. Her nostrils flared again and she closed her eyes. Block it out. Block it out. Block it out.
She nearly tripped as she left the town, but she caught herself before she could tumble down a ledge. Hooves scrambling for balance, the kirin ultimately came to a stop when she jammed her cleft hoof into a tiny little sapling rising up from the ground. Turning away from the foal’s breath flowers at the bottom of the hill, she turned her attention to her hoof and pulled it out of the undergrowth. The tiny sapling came with it, wedged into her hoof’s cleft, with a single leaf on the top gently flapping in the breeze. Autumn looked it over and silently giggled at the splotches of mud on her hoof. Combined with the twig sticking out of it, it looked like a little kirin puppet. Autumn moved it this way and that, letting the leaf flutter left and right.
Hey there, little guy! she thought to herself, pretending to speak to her hoof. How are you today?
I’m just great! she pretended to reply, thinking in a lower pitch How are you?
I’m awful, Autumn pouted. I just want to laugh and sing, but I can’t!
I know that feeling; I’m just a twig! Twigs can’t speak!
Then I guess kirin and twigs have something in common then. Autumn frowned at her hoof. Nopony understands what we gave up.
She tilted her hoof downwards like it was sad. Awww… Well, maybe you can tell me all about it!
I’d love to! Finally, somepony who will actually listen to me! Autumn grinned and began to hobble back to her village on three hooves. We’re gonna have a great time! What should I call you?
You can call me Twiggy! the hoof puppet ‘said’ back at her.
Twiggy! I like that! Her tail swishing in silly happiness, Autumn pranced along the path, proudly waving the puppet back and forth. We’re gonna be best friends!
A month passed, a month filled with more unfathomable boredom and overbearing silence. As time piled on since she’d waded through the Stream of Silence, Autumn felt herself slowly becoming increasingly antsy and fidgety. She had so many words and ideas she wanted to express, but her tongue was tied. She’d taken to writing musical theatre to try and express herself in some way, but that could only hold off the maddening silent mania for so long.
And then it started again. That incessant beating of her heart. It sounded like a drum, and it smothered all her other thoughts. It was almost impossible to ignore. It was so, so... so maddening. And it only grew worse day by day.
Autumn tore the script she’d been writing in half as that endless drum hammered the back of her ears once more. Why now?! She growled and fell backwards in her chair, grunting as her head banged against the ground. If she was supposed to be quiet all the time, why couldn’t the stream have made all of her quiet, too?!
Oh, Autumn, what’s the matter? Twiggy asked her, the leaf on his head wobbling with each twitch of the stick in Autumn’s hoof. The scrawled-on cartoon eyes seemed full of concern and worry for his best friend.
There’s a drum inside of my brain that I can’t make stop, Autumn whimpered. And no matter how much I try to ignore it, it just gets louder!
Why does the drum bother you, Autumn? Twiggy cocked his head to the side with a pivot of Autumn’s hoof. Doesn’t it just mean you’re alive?
This isn’t living! Autumn sat upright and glared in frustration at her puppet. I don’t want to be quiet for the rest of my life! I want to talk and sing and laugh! I’ve just been trapped inside of my head for so so so so so so so so long! Do you know what that’s like?
I have an idea, Twiggy admitted. I can only talk through you.
Autumn sighed and held Twiggy against her nose so she could look the little puppet in its eyes. I just wish there was something I could do, she thought. I know Rain Shine’s not going to undo this curse on us. She was the one that made us do it in the first place! But she’s the only one who could actually fix this mess!
She’s not the only one…
She’s not? Autumn cocked her head at her puppet. What do you mean, Twiggy?
Well, I may have learned something from Father Oak when I was just a little seedling, Twiggy began. But he said that foal’s breath has the power to let things talk!
It does? Autumn thought back to the little unassuming flower that sometimes grew near the village. It only bloomed once a year, and it was so difficult to cultivate that nopony in the village ever tried to grow it. On top of that, it had a taste that was at once both overpoweringly bitter and sickeningly sweet, so nopony tried to eat it. It was just a rare piece of eye candy to look at and nothing more.
Looks can be deceiving, Twiggy sang. But if you use some foal’s breath, then your pipes should be good as new!
Autumn jumped to her hooves in a flash. Could it really work? She had no idea, but the prospect of getting her voice back was too exciting. One little potion and she’d be able to talk again. She’d be able to talk again and she’d put that thunderous thumping of her own heart into the back of her mind forever.
Her magic snatched a satchel off a peg and slung it over her neck. Thanks, Twiggy! she proudly thought at the puppet. You’re the best!
No, you’re the best! Twiggy insisted. I’m just trying to help! Now go get ‘em, Autumn! I believe in you!
The potion did not work.
Autumn lay under the blankets of her bead, quietly sobbing. The tears flowed down her face and her shoulders heaved, but she couldn’t even make a sound. Damn the Stream of Silence! It had even taken her cries of anguish away from her!
The only person to console her was Twiggy. The puppet stared at her as she stained her sheets with tears, the normally happy smile on his face diluted with concern. Why?! Autumn quietly wailed inside her own silent prison. Why didn’t it work! I used all the flowers! I tried to make the potion so many different ways!
Twiggy didn’t answer her, and Autumn went back to trying to stem her tears by squeezing her eyes shut. It wasn’t fair! This was supposed to work! Why didn’t it work?! Was she going to be stuck like this for the rest of her life? Stuck like this with no way to ever undo the curse?
Her heart beat again. It was growing louder with each passing moment. She worried her skull was going to split open. It dominated everything. Made everything so hard to focus on.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
Autumn opened her mouth to scream, but not a sound escaped her throat. She grabbed her pillow and tried to smother herself with it. That noise, that dreadful noise! Why wouldn’t it stop?! Was it taunting her, teasing her in her failure? Was it laughing at her because she’d failed to break the curse?! Why?!
Autumn…
The kirin cracked open a puffy eye at Twiggy. He looked on at her with such concern, such empathy. He only wanted to help her, and she could tell her failure had hurt him too. He was so sorry for her. But sorry couldn’t give her her voice back.
It’s over, Twiggy, Autumn thought at him. I used up all the foal’s breath in the village. It’s all gone!
No it isn’t, Twiggy insisted.
Autumn blinked, her full eyelashes heavy with tears. No? What… what do you mean? Do you know where there’s more?
There’s plenty more! Autumn could see the smile on the puppet’s face. It’s all around us! Why, you see it every day!
What are you talking about? Autumn swallowed hard. She could feel something itching at the back of her mind, clawing a tiny hole into it, and it wasn’t her heartbeat. For once, its incessant drumming had fallen quiet. The plant’s all gone!
Twiggy laughed, and the little leaf on his horn twitched. I wasn’t talking about the plant…
Autumn Blaze crouched in a bush under the cover of darkness. A sealed bottle lay at her left, and her hooves fidgeted with a length of rope. Her whole body shook and trembled, but at least she had Twiggy to reassure her. Twiggy always knew just what to say. Twiggy always helped her out.
She had cried at first. She had tried to scream. She had tried to deny it with all her being. But she knew Twiggy was right. Twiggy was always right. She was the one who was wrong. Of course she was wrong. Where would she be without Twiggy?
Autumn tried to block out her thundering heart, but she couldn’t silence it. Not now. Not when she was waiting. The waiting just made it worse. So much worse. So much so she nearly couldn’t stand it.
It would all be over soon. It would all be over soon. Just a little longer now. It would all be over soon.
A shadow flickered across the window of the house in front of her, and Autumn tensed in anticipation. She quickly undid the seal on her jar and made sure she had the lid close by. She would only have one shot. Just one. Just one and it would all be over soon.
Just a little longer now and it would all be over soon.
The door to the house opened, and Autumn lowered her head deeper into the bush. A little filly stepped out of the door, dragging a bucket full of garbage in her weak little magic. She walked with careless steps toward the compost pile in her family’s backyard, her calm little eyes instead looking up at the stars, not down at the ground. Had they been earthbound, they may have noticed the leaves of the bush in front of her rustling, but they did not.
Autumn opened the loop on the rope. Azure Sparks had a larger horn than she remembered.
It would all be over soon in just a little longer.
Just a little longer and soon it would all be over.
The filly began to dump the bucket onto the compost pile, and Autumn looked at Twiggy. Twiggy just smiled back at her, the leaf on his horn twitching in the gentlest of the evening breezes, and nodded.
Autumn let the mana notches on her horn flare to life and she grabbed Azure by the neck.
The filly opened her mouth to scream, but no sound escaped. She tried to flail about and break free, but Autumn’s magic lifted her off the ground so her hooves couldn’t hit anything. And then Autumn was slipping back through the forest, filly and equipment in tow, until she couldn’t see the lights of the house anymore.
That was when she slipped the rope around Azure’s head and tightened the loop.
Azure clawed at the rope around her neck, but Autumn held on tight, using her weight to keep the filly pinned to the ground. Tears streamed down the child’s cheeks as she fought and struggled in total silence, and one terrified eye managed to look up at Autumn’s face. Betrayal and pure fear etched themselves into Azure’s features. The ground smelled like piss.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
Autumn closed her eyes and flattened her ears, just trying to block out the sound. She didn’t know which was worse: the beating of the drum in her chest, or the muted, strangled cries of a little girl. But if she didn’t look at Azure, it wasn’t as bad.
Just a little longer. It would all be over soon. It would all be over soon.
The filly’s thrashing began to slow. Her limbs lost their strength. Bloodshot veins crawled through the sclera of her eyes. Autumn made sure she held the rope tight until long after Azure stopped moving. Only then did she press the jar to the filly’s muzzle and let the rope slacken.
The lid fell a moment later, sealing a foal’s last breath inside.
Autumn trembled as she held the jar in her grasp. The adrenaline rush began to fade, and she felt… nothing. No sadness. No regret. No remorse. She had done what Twiggy wanted. Twiggy was always right. It would all be over soon.
Good job! Twiggy cheered for her, and her jerky eyes fell on the puppet. He seemed more lifelike, more alive than ever before. Or had he always been this alive?
Twiggy was always alive. Twiggy had always been with her. Twiggy was always her friend.
Only Twiggy could make the drums stop.
What… w-what now? Autumn asked him. She was so close. So close to getting her voice back. So close. So close.
Listen closely, Autumn! Twiggy told her in his cheerful voice. All you gotta do is do exactly what I say and you’ll have your voice back in no time!
Autumn eagerly nodded along. So close. Listen to Twiggy. Make the drums stop. So close.
Make the drums stop.
Make the drums stop.
Make the drums stop.
The clearing had been meticulously prepared. Every stone had been brushed aside. The lines in the dirt had been arranged with patient precision.
At the center of a triangle, a foal’s body. At the edge of the circle, Autumn Blaze. In her magical grasp, a knife.
Her eyes were glued to Twiggy. Only Twiggy knew what she must do. Only Twiggy could tell her what to do.
She moved her limbs on jerky motions. Erratic. Shuffling. Her eyes never blinked. She couldn’t look away from Twiggy. Couldn’t. Only Twiggy. Only Twiggy.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
The knife moved like lightning. The foal’s blood spilled on the dirt, channeled to the points of the triangle by the lines Autumn had carved.
She held the jar in her magic. She touched her hoof to the blood. She stamped the blood on the lid of the jar. Twiggy smiled back at her with pride. The drums banged in her head.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
It was just as Twiggy said. Do what Twiggy wants. Do what Twiggy wants. Get your voice back. Make the drums stop. Make the drums stop. Make the drums stop.
Her magic undid the lid of the jar. She held her nose over the top and inhaled. Azure’s last warm breath flowed down her throat, mixing with the smell of blood. She felt a tingle in her throat, and then she coughed.
Sound.
Sound.
SOUND.
“My… my voice!” Autumn croaked, her vocal chords rusty and raw from disuse. “I… I can talk! I can talk! I can tal—! Ta—! T—!!!”
She clutched at her throat, feeling it begin to tighten up. She looked around in panic, only to see the trees beginning to fade away to the encroaching darkness. Her heart began to race, hammering on the inside of her skull like never before, and she turned her worried eyes to Twiggy.
Twiggy just smiled back at her, and for the first time, she realized that it wasn’t her voice that she heard from the puppet, but something else.
Our voices are one now, the puppet proclaimed. Together as one, fo̴r̛ev͡er͟ a͝n̛d̕ ͜e̢ve͜r̶.
“N-No!” Autumn croaked, falling to her haunches. “T-Twiggy! Y-̸Y̛͡o͏̵u̸ ̶̢c̶͘an̷͡'̨t̸̢!̛̀”
Y̴óu ̵are a g̸o͢o̴d p͜up̶pe͡t, ͠Autum͟n̢., Twiggy said, and the world continued to dim around him. Soon, he was the only thing that Autumn could focus on. Y̴o͡u ̀͟͝h͟a̶̡ve͝ ̶͜͞s͡͡er͝v̵͟e̛͜d ̴̧m̶҉e̵͝ w͢҉͞e͟ll.̵
The words crawled through her mind, carving and biting away at everything they touched. Autumn’s world began to spin around her as she felt her sense of self beginning to unravel. But she couldn’t blink, couldn’t move. She could only stare at the puppet that held her in its thrall.
No, not puppet.
Master.
Memories vanished into the void. Feelings, experiences, family, all turning to dust as Twiggy cut them apart. She was no longer Autumn Blaze. She was a tool of something else. A tool of her master. Her identity came crashing down in tiny pieces around her. She couldn’t look away. Couldn’t look away. Couldn’t look away.
The drums pounded in her ears. They never stopped. They grew louder. Louder. Louder.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
What little pieces were left of the kirin cringed and screamed in torment as darkness consumed her world.
Make the drums stop.
M͞a̡͞k̸̛͜ȩ ̢͟ţh̵͠e҉ ḑ̡͠r͢͝ums͟͝ ś̵t͢҉̨ǫ͟p̶͏.̷͡
M̷̞a͔̪͎̯̤͔k͈̯̟e̷̲̦͓ t̼̣̗͟h͢e̙̙̟ ͡ḑ͍̝̰̰̦̮ͅr̹͘u͖̪͎͕̝m͚̠͇̮s̭͇͉͟ ͍̹̠s͖͕͈͇̙̤̪͘t̥̳o̮̻̠͓̩̣̜ṕ̭.͖̱͔̳͙
M҉̭a̸̟̣̫k̩̦͎̞̩̥͟͞͠e̸͜҉̞̞̺͈̳̩̹̮̰ ̡͙͔̳͕͉̣̙͠ͅț̷̡̫̣͞h͓̦̙͉͜ͅḙ̛̲̭̞̻ ̫̟͔̖͚͢d̵͓̲͈̣̺͇̜̕r͚͖͍̟͔̫̠̹̕ͅư̝̤̜͇̘͞m̡̙̰͔͉̭s̰̞̀ ̙̣̻s̵̙̣t̝̞͞ơ̖͍̮̖̭̳̘̘p̬̪͉̯̙̣̗͘͜.̟͔͓̬͙̯͜
M̸̡̤̼̖̭͎̲͖͍̟͎̣̹͙̫̩̬̠̯͘͡͠ḁ̛͕̺̗̙̩̪̺͚͈̞͍k̢̪̘̻̜̜̥̫͈̱̤̞̟̯̟̪̟͚͟e̷̡̼̹̳̩̼͚͔̹̦͚̯̲͘ ̸̵̴̪̫̲̭̥̗͎̼̞͈̟̰͖̠̤̺͞t̀͜͠͏͓̼̻̟̼͉̮̤̻̙̭̬͉̘̱h̵̲̬̘̫̺̻̟̱͘͜è̸̴̶̻̩͎̩̮̺͕̰̙͢ ̸͙̥̟̟̦̯̘̻͚͖̘͖̳̦̺̦̲̞̀͜d̢͉͓̯̪̜̱͘̕r̴̶͡͏̩̻͉̙̟̖̮̼͚̭͓̗ù̯̰̻̹̭̼͖̜̹͓͎͘͟m̵̡̙͈͓̘̰̠̣̞̪̠̩̙̟̖͢͡s̢͖͓̠͙̦̗͉̕͜ͅ ̷̬̱̗̭̪͖̤̲̟̺̼̮͓̙͖̻̕͟s̸̵̡̜͎̪̣̜̱̗̤͔͕̠̱̖̩̞͉̕͞ͅt͏̸̢̧͍̗̪̦̹͚̺̼͉̻̻͈ͅo͘҉̮̬͉͉̞͓͎͚͇̙̻̭̮̞͈̠̖̕͢͢p̨͓̳͍͙̻̳̯͍̝̀́̕ͅͅ.̢̞͔͇͕͕̯̺͔̀͠
M̬̪͉̕ͅa҉̷̛̱͈̮̜ͅk̢̻̪͞ͅȩ̯͚̞͓̗̱ ̷̕͏̮͚͇͉ţ̺̙̙̳̜̹̳͙͞h̳̪̥͔̻͘ͅͅé̫̯ ̵͖͕̯͇̫͈͔̕͞ḑ̞̮͇͇̝r̕͏̠͍̖̭̬̰͘u̩̙͚̝̪̼m̵̠̳͎̜͍͉̀ͅś̢͕̟̖̖̠̝ ̰̝͇̜̰̼̰͜͡s҉̵̪̻͕̖̮͎ţ͈͙̰̼̜͇̀ͅo̵̱̩̯͉̲͎ͅp͖͇̦̻͓͘.̵͙̫͎̪̙̻́
M̳͉̰͇͕͙̳̘͑ͪ͌͌̓́a̼̖ͥ̂͐̑̊͋́͞k̗̯̠̹̱̮͛̑̓́͆̍̆́é̤͎̤̠͚̋ͪ̌ͅ ́͌͏͔t̛̪̲̫̞ͧ͒ͥ̍h̴͚̺͚̎e̸̲̯̥͍̹̝̗̳̾ͯ͂̔ͫͯ̌ͣ͢ ̳͎͙͎̭̪̖̎ͩ̔ͯͭ̀́̌͝dͫ̑҉̨̬͕̼͓ŗ̵̞̳͈̮͔ͥ̓͒u̸̧̫̯̬̼̮̼̿ͥm̖͔̮͙͒ͥ͗ͅs̢̛̮̞̻̲͖͔̥̥ͭ̌͘ ̩̘̠͐̈̽s̡͙̮̬͓ͤ́̉ͣ̋̚͞͡t̛͇̯͂̇ͣͬ͂̄̀͞ö̶̘̜̰̠̗́͗͌̏͛͂͜p̳͓̫͕͈̬̣͛͛̑̆̌͆ͩ̑͘.ͬ͊͏̥
M̶͓̟̠͈̫̲͚͍̣̤̮̺̥͔̹̹̭̞ͯͦ́̊̽ͮ̉̈̓̈́̇̎̄̾ͭ́̚͟͞â̴̱͖͙͙̒̓̇ͪ̃͑ͥ͛̋͌̍̐́̌̓͝k̎͋̉̀̀͒͏̨̧͔̟͎̫̘͔͕͓͈̰̟̲̞̦̘̀͜e̸̶̠̪̭͉̼̲ͭ̔͗̈̒̾́̈́́͑̑ͨ̅͂͢͠ ̛̬̜̠̺̩͖͖͓͍͈͕̠ͫ́̾͆ͨ̋͌̊̒̊̉̆͡t̢̧͚̥͉͓̻̻̣̘̥̻̟̳͊̌̎ͮͩ͂̒̉̈̎̌ͩ͛ͫ̀͘ḧ̶̢̛̗̜̘̞̻͓͉͈͇̲̦͕͈̝̼͈͈̲̯͒ͯ̊͌͐͂̅̐̀́ͧ͘e̷̩͕͉̮̫͇̩̞̜̺͔͎̰͓̽͒ͯ͊̀̈́̿͗ͤ̉͆̀ͩ̐͌͒̾ͯ̀ ̲̖̭̙͈̰̆́̌̒̏̊̈́́͡͝d̶̸̺̯̰̯͇̹̪̬͎̟̣̗ͫ̑̋̓͌ͤͯͯͫͦͬ͌͂͘͠ŗ̶͂̈́̋̔͆̋ͤ͐̄̋͛͂̽͏̴̥̝̺̳̟̹͉̗̰͇̝̼̜͉̹͇̠̜ų̺̩̝͎̞̲̯̫̭͓̻̱͍̩ͯ͐̓͋͡͡m̶̲̳͈̮̪͚̳̳̻̠͙̣̪̜̦̞͐ͤ͆̽̑ͭ̎̓̓͊ͪͬ̃ͫ̏ͦ͑͞s͊͊͑̇́͢͏̡̜̲̭̝ ̸̧͚̖͉̹̝̣̮͆̒̈̄̓͐ş̜̻̥̺̗ͪ̒͗̓ͯͫ́͐͂̍̾̔̈̚̚t̢̡̜̜͇̠͙͖̖̪̲͕̼͚̠͈̟̰̍ͣ̀̈̿͂͗ͅͅo̷̸̢͖̤̖̤͕̦̠͎͙̠͙̗̼̺̞͖͍̤̮̐̋͒͂ͬp̴̥͓͕͔̣̐̃̄̒̔ͬ̓͐́̕͢͡.̸̡̧̺̻̤̘͕͇̎̿ͬ́̇̿ͦ͗ͨͩͨ́͐̾͟
M̡͋ͯ̑͂ͫͧ̐̐̽͐҉͙̳̤̙̘̼͇̜̥̥̱̩͔̻ͅã̸͙̫̠̗̳͎͚͚̣̳̫̯͖̥͋ͨ̓̐̐̍ͮ̔͊ͭͯͬͤ̿́̚͢͡͞k̈̅ͮ͋ͨ̾͗͊ͪ͊ͮ͝͏̡̲̪͎̯̠͍̦̳̖̹̭͇̝̹ͅͅe͉̲̪̞͉̗̣̬͈̣̣̙̳̙̾̂̃͂̂ͤ̈ͮ̈͡͡ ̸̵̨͙̘̠̜͓̘̆ͦͧͥ̔̏̐̈́̈̊͑͡t̷̲̦͔͔͓͈͉̺̦͊̾̊̇̊͌̚͞h́͑ͯ͒͊̉̈́̏̾̋̾ͦ̇̆ͥͦͣͯͨ̕҉̸̖̫̯̟̗̦͍͓͖̥̳͡ȩ̨̠̹̝͉̙̞͓͙̺̻͍̙͓̹̖̻̾̄̀̐͐̽͜͝ ̨̼̹̮̖͙̱̝̠̭̯̦͕̖̦͙͙̈̍ͬͅd̴̸̸̢̬̤̼̳̮̤̜̩͔͍̲̱͈̳̞̗̬̩͒̅̆͊ͥ̒̎͗ͥ̉̋̀ͨ̔̚͝r̸͈̩̳̥̘͍͙̥͊̔ͤ͒͂ͯͦͤ͐ͧ̑̂͆͒ͩ͢͢ǘ̵̟̟̤̯̲̝̘̣̖͉̞̘̹̾͂͐̍̎̂̽͆ͪ̿̓͊ͣ̊͢mͥͭ͊̈́͐ͮ͐ͨ̌͂ͯͩͭͬ͑̑͏̨҉̸͙͚͈̙̫̰̼̖̪͇s̸̺̦͙̱̗̻̣̲͖͈͕͙͍̺̏́̾̇̓ͧ̐̊ͧ̃͡ ̳̙͕̼̥̰͙̞͎̦͙̝͉̤̈́̍͒̌̆͒ͮͪͭͬ͛̒̈̔̌̑ͮ̀̚̚s͋͆̆ͣ͌̏͌͆͆ͥ̾̈́̊̐̈́ͦ̀̀̚҉̲̣͎̮̯͎̠̞͈̣̙͔̲̼t̥̙̤̹̳̾͌̇̊̂ͩ̀̚͠͞͠o̧̢̫̼̞̻͓̥̖̝̞̜̮͖͇͇̮̳͙̓̏̒ͫ̈͗̀ͬͪ̊͛ͬ͗̀ͅp̵̡̧̫̪͙̤͕͎͌͋̅̍̈́ͩ́.̷̝̻̺͓̭͓̠̟̜̤͖̆̓̽ͩ̑̂͋ͩ̔ͮ̂̍͒͗ͫͬ̏̌̉͡͡
M̤̤̳̠̮̩̱̪̣̜̜̹ͭ͆̈́ͯ͒̈́͗̏̌ͥ̏̅ͪͮ͊ͪ͘ͅa̢͎͔͈̺̭̱͂͋͑̀̿̆̑͒̍͢͡͠k̢̭̱̥̱̫̲̳̼̙ͥ̔͂́ͣ̓ͭ̽̃̐͂̿̽̍̏͆̅̏́͢͡ę̴̶͂̏̽̿̊̐͒̍̏̿ͬ͆̀̾̓͏̯̝͖͔̠͍̕ ̷̴̳͉͔̼̭̭̤̣͚̰ͮͩ̂̂ͯ͆͂ͭͪ͗͡t̡̔͐ͨ̎ͬ̏̔ͩ͐̍ͫ̓̔͢͏̳͉̪̬̖̥̱̭̺͝h̨̡̛͚̠̟̮͙̗̮̺͔̠͔̰̳ͩ̎̽̃̿ͤͭ̌͒͗ͮ͛̃͒̌̈̔̚͜ͅe̴͚̥̦̤͖̖̺͙̿ͪ́̏̎̀ͩͭ̒̏̀͘ͅ ̵̨̦̠̦̜̙̪͈̻̪̗̒̿̓ͨͪ̀ͨ̒̅̍̋ͣͨ͋̒͟͟ͅd̸̶͚͇̥̺͔͚͖ͬ̆ͨͣ̽ͣͪͭͧͦ̌̀͢ͅr̴̼̭̦͎̐͊̓͆̾̊͋̋͆̏ͭͯ̂ͩ͢͡u̷̧̱̤͚͙̞̞̯͙͖͍̣͍̯̩̼̯͓̝ͬͬ͛ͤ͌ͥ͗͐͆̔ͥ͑͐̏̌̆̔ͯ̚ͅm̶̛͎̝̯̩͓̹̪̝̞͈ͥ͗̇ͧͮͅsͨ̉̆̏̓̓ͪ̀҉̝̙͎͖̤͙̙̠ ̅͊ͮ̔ͫ̍ͣ̐̍̌̚͏̥̳͔̞̼̦͟ͅs̸̶͈͇̘̘̫̙͎̺̣͎̜͔̱̝̜͛̓ͯͯ̆͋̿͐̅ͭ̈̿ͫͬ̋̂ͤ̑͢͝͞t̸̛̖̣̩͇̮̦͖̬͍̼͈̹̂̊ͫ̓ͭ͋̚o̹̲͎͚̳͇̱̪̭̮̖͕͆̓ͧ͟͡ͅpͮ̃̆͒ͣ̂҉̵҉̱̺̬̫̮̼̙̰͍͙̞̣̳̰̳̕͠.̷̴̗̯̙̜̩͕̱̫̿͌̊ͨ̀ͪͯ̍ͭ̓̍̀ͭ͊́
