And therefore, when I wake, I cry out for the depths of sleep, and when I sleep, I cry out for wakefulness to rise me from slumber so that I may, once more, drink from the cup of consternation. For, in the space between sleep and wake, lies my petulance. Sorrow is a dear friend; she is a constant companion. Feeling her chilly claws rake across my brow stirs me deep down into the depths of my own desolation. And in the end, when the last good fight has been fought, I will pass to the other realm and wait for her in slumber once more.

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