To the exorcists, what people remember about them is just a group of depressed and desolate figures wandering in the black castle and every alleyway, like undead. Their stories have not been told, and their only traces are just footsteps heading into darkness, and then they are quickly washed away by the torrent of time. The traces of time are nothing but gravel on the beach, and so is the human body.
Yes, they are just a group of desperadoes, driven by stubborn and unresolved reasons to work hard. The clothes are in tatters, the mind is tired, numb and enjoys the kiss of death, and even the heart becomes autistic.
Desperado, a desperado, just had thousands of words to talk to, but at the end, he died without a cure, and I finally shed tears, we were homeless.
Conception: