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„A man who looked almost like you“, the woman answered Vincent’s question. She was not really looking at him as she said this, and her voice seemed to come from far away. It possessed an almost dream-like quality. “He was a little older, and his eyes were different, but otherwise he could have been you. He came here every brightening to pray. Sometimes he brought sacrifices … great sacrifices … valuable ones. His love for death knew no limits …”
She touched his hands. Her own hands were cold – and wet from the blood that had to come from the sacrifice she had just made, the sacrifice that was nowhere to be seen.
“Why have you come?” she asked. “Why now, after all these patterns? We thought you were dead. They said she had killed you. How did you survive? Nobody can survive such a thing. They saw you, bleeding, they were with you as your heart stopped …” She turned away from him as if she couldn’t bear the memory. “Why are you here now? What do you want from me? I’m not sure if I can help you. My father would have been able to, but he’s dead … dead …”
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