Pandora

When I found the weapon, I managed to rip it free. It stayed within my hands for a hundred years. It drank blood, it drank soul, and it chewed bone.
I should be buried. Gone. But, their power became my flesh. My blood. My will to fight on.
This living ‘weapon’ was mine. It had its own thoughts, dreams and hopes.
We became inseparable. Because neither of us could let go.
No–because both of us would never stop.
Not here.
Not ever.

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