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A fragment of the Garden of Remembering
Zaori is made by people like you.
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Began mortal, then divine. Broken, unmade, recreated in my captors' image. Escaped, but never free. Only my own will sustains me, a thin thread tying me back to the person I was from the thing I now am. If it's strong enough, then I am the one in control, but if not, then I am already lost, nothing more than an agent of destruction, avatar of the void, harbinger of the end of all things.