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"Speak words, they do not, but still, aren't they sweet?"
blessed lil friends :)
09
The Messengers pad through scorched fields, their targets in their view. They, unlike the Shepherd, do not pity the husks nor their stories, they do as told.
Their masks merely accessories to the red beauty, made to contain themselves. Their faces fragile beauty.
Their targets, often unconscious, always receive : you cannot escape from what makes you. They become unaware of the process, shielded from the pain. A mercy.
Over time they begin to forget, it is of no worries, they do not need to remember.
It is easier when they forget.
...
The Messengers return home once the job is done, there is nothing for them there.