The beloved solitary dungeon is back in your manacled hands, following the weekend visit from the landlord and his family. It was only for a night and a day in total, but still. Currently white sage burns for purifying needs, while the crick in your neck continues to act as a reminder of your approaching death, the soundtrack provided by two sugar soaked red haired clowns who whine about the weather and the quality of the writing in the Sunday newspapers. Until now, apart from one bomb detonation, you were only ever scheduled to raise your children to the stars.

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