Prologue

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Somewhere, far down there was an itch in his heart, but he made it a point not to scratch it. He was afraid of what might come leaking out. 

There are many inhabitants of this world, some good, some evil. Each inhabitant ultimately passes through me. They spend their entire lives running from the one thing they cannot escape. There are few who manage to do so, but their lives are full of pain, sadness, joy, and death. They are doomed to watch those around them die, fade into nothingness not to be be remembered. While they, themselves, wish for nothing more to fade; when their time comes they greet me as they would an old friend. There have not been many who have escaped my clutches, but those who have are never forgotten. 

There is one who has escaped me many times. There is no love awaiting him, no land to call home, that is gone. He does not live for himself. Gilbert Beilschmid, lives for family. He lives for hope. 

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