They say that every person is like a tower. Your principles are the wooden base on which it is built. Your morals are the stones that enclose the soul which resides within. Mine is different. My tower is built on festered beams of decaying driftwood. My bricks are brittle and cracked, and consist only of sickening lies and hypocrisy. Its dweller is a twisted and mangled abomination which should not be allowed to see the light of day for as long as it lives. I swore on false motives to protect the one I cared for, even if it was against her will. I can only ask myself this now. Do I still deserve her? Do I even deserve to live?
So far, the Third Floor has been finally finished, screenshots will follow shortly.
slow, steady
The title actually kind of speaks for itself, really.
creativity, or rather, a lack of it.
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