"For the third night in a row, I've dreamt of the the Grey Gardeners knocking at my door. I cannot believe it is my turn. To be cut down by a blade washed in the blood of a thousand revolutions, as a wave of popular outrage washes over me, as my head tumbles down the step of the scaffold.
We take up the sword, and by it we shall perish. Once we struck down the Imperial scum, but now it is we who must face the blade... The insurgent beast called Revolution will never be sated. It needs new victims. This time, its my comrades and I.
The cruelty of the hoarders in power echoes on the cruelty of the paupers, now intoxicated by their own freedom. We wanted change? Well here it is. This is a country now of mad fanatics, fighting their treacherous past every day. Former friends are today's foes.
My workshop has been converted into a secret headquarters. If I could do it all over again, I would repair to my easel and refrain from the cause that has sent me down this path..."
This page was last edited on 5 August 2020, at 09:36.
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