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... ed years...

Three hundred...

Four...

"Liar..."

I said as I added that very word in Alex’s epitaph.

I have now grown old, and a few strands of my hair had already turned white.

My end was drawing near, and I could feel it, so I decided to make my own grave.

Fairies wouldn’t leave anything behind when they died.

We simply cease to exist... returning to nature, just like how we were born.

Winter, spring, summer, and fall...

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