WEBVTT

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Ninth Story Studios giving Story a Voice. Welcome to the list, get ready

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to take the ride. Hello,
and welcome to season five, episode number

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two of Victoria's Lift. I'm Daniel
Foytech, and I thank you for listening.

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Today's episode was written for us by
a returning author, the very talented

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Lee Andrew Foreman. He has written
audio fiction for us The Wicked Library,

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and has multiple books and collections available
on Amazon, including The Very Creepy Berry

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Box. He is also one of
the masters behind Siren's Call Publishing. You

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can find out more about Lee at
Lee Andrew Foreman dot com. Before we

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begin, a sincere thank you to
those of you supporting the show on Patreon.

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You truly make this show possible.
It's because of your support that I

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can continue to pay the very talented
authors, artist, voice actors, and

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composers. Simply, it's your support
that allows us to continue to make sure

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those who contribute to the show do
not work for free. A special shout

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out to our friend Jeremy. Saul's
characters based on him and his special friend

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Apolo are immortalized in my three part
tale Von Hamlin. So, Jeremy,

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I know it's hard to lose a
dear companion. Victoria says she's taking very

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special care of Apollo and giving him
lots of extra rubs and cuddles, and

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he is a very good boy.
If you're not yet supporting the show,

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you can do that at patreon dot
com forward slash Wicked Library. For as

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little as two dollars a month,
you can help make the show you love

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possible and get fun rewards. A
lot of hard work and money goes into

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making Victoria's Lift. I really do
rely on your support to help me pay

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the contributors. In addition to knowing
that you're a part of making this show

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possible, you can get fund rewards
like ad free episodes and more. You

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can support us at patreon dot com
forward slash Victoria's Lift. Today's story is

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performed by the incomparable Graham Rowet and
the always spectacular Amber Collins as our girl

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Victoria. The episode features a custom
scored by Nico Vites of We Talk of

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Dreams. This story is beautifully dark
and packs a punch. Have a seat

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and relax as we present a tale
about casting aside, self loathing, seeing

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your true nature, and overcoming self
imposed exile in Carapis by Lee Andrew Foreman.

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I've lived here longer than I can
remember. These walls, whole decades

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of dust and smoke and everything else, layers of my life waiting to be

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painted over, fresh, new clean. The cracks speak of broken promises and

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fractured hearts, the stained wallpaper of
faded dreams. I've only wonders are left

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among all in me which has died, and that is to stay here in

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this crumbling apartment. Some have tried
to get me to leave, but my

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world is here. I have no
reason to go. If I want to

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see what's out there, all I
have to do is look out the sixth

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floor window. I loathe this place
as much as myself, but I don't

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d'er expose the innocent to my repugnant
existence. I must remain here so the

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eyes of the world don't suffer.
I'm sustained by drippings from a leaky faucet

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and the small meals I can scavenge. My tongue laps at each drip,

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my stomach groans at what little it
receives. It's enough to get by,

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to survive, to remain within my
prison, my cage, my haven.

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Footsteps thunder outside the door. Fear
that I'll have to vacate this place always

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lurks within my shadow, But the
loneliness filling the air as equally suffocating.

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Where is the middle ground? Where
is the land of both solitude and tranquility?

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Does such a place exist? Or
is all hell above and below?

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Maybe I've died and this is hell. But I wouldn't be so lucky for

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this to be. My punishment would
also reveal itself to be a reward.

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What devil would extend such a gift? What pleasure would exist in the realm

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of damnation? As those trotting shoes
come closer, I run for my sanctum

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dug tooth and claw into the wall. Backing my closet. I curl up

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in my little hole, pulling covers
over my body to hide from anything and

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everything. But the footsteps pass,
and, somewhat relaxed, I allow dreamless

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sleep to take me. When I
wake, the door to the closet has

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shut, and when I try to
get up, my foot pushes through the

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thin layer left in the back wall. On the other side, a place

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I've never seen waits. I stare
through the hole with curious eyes. The

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dim green light seems calming and enticing, Yet I've not left this place in

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so long. What waits out there
is not what I want to meet.

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My heart begs me to stay,
to remain in place, but I'm otherwise

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trapped in my little heaven, and
as much as I'd like to, I

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can't remain forever. I peel away
enough thin wall to exit into this unknown.

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Black doors adorn the sides of a
long hallway, each leading to rooms

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I've never seen, places of dread
to be avoided. My legs tremble as

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I scurry across the carpet. My
heart thumps. I smell the pungent odor

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of my own fear. It both
drives me and holds me back, moves

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me forward while tugging my thoughts to
what's behind. That shadowed hand we all

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possess always wants to remain in the
past. It pulls wraps itself around our

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throats and chokes us of whatever happiness
might wait in our future paths. Green

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fluorescent bulbs flicker above, darkness blinks
its eyes. The rapid pounding in my

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chest stops from the affraction of time, then resumes its violent action. I

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keep forward until I reach the end, holes extending out at both sides.

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I look each way to my left, another corridor of unknown length, its

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end and unlit mystery. To my
right, more of the same, lime

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walls and black doors. A repeating
thumb echoes from the darkness. Heavy breaths

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gust from the unseen. They carry
the stench of a wanting stomach. A

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growl pounds my ears. I don't
know what's coming. Instinct begs me to

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flee. I don't argue. As
I sprint away, the steps behind me

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quickened. A chase has begun.
Howls of a predatory tone sound from my

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hunter. Its jaw slaps opened and
shut. I dare not look back to

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see how close those teeth are.
But hot breath puffs against my back.

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The scent of its hunger thickens the
very air in which I run. One

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lined, Run as fast as you
can, despite not knowing where the voice

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came from. I do exactly that. But my pursuer is closing in,

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and my strength is failing. The
hot blood burning through my veins begins to

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slow. Every breath is a struggle
for survival all its own. My subconscious

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begins to accept mortality, spilling into
my thought says, all too calm realizations

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that the end is inevitable. Death
has arrived and does not wait for anyone,

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especially not for a meager creature such
as myself. The door gave for

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the door, a portion of wall
just large enough for me to fit through.

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Opens. I make for it and
skid through on scrambling legs. As

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it closes behind me, too small
for the beast to follow, I get

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a glimpse at it pointed teeth line, Its more long, scraggly fur covers

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its entirety. On four legs,
it walks tears, pointed tail, whipping

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back and forth in anger of its
prey escaping. As I back up,

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a wall immediately stops me. Misty
light creeps in through lay where the plaster

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has cracked. This door has led
me inside the wall. I'm deeper in

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than I've ever been before, inside
a hidden place, a special place that

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provides a neurotic comfort to a terror
stricken mind. It must be safe here

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in this world, within a world. I make my way through cobwebs and

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dust, aimlessly searching the hidden labyrinth. I lose myself in its many paths,

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just as I'd lost myself in my
own mind. Who I was doesn't

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matter, only what I've become,
A filthy creature only deserving of a festering

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habitat and the scraps of nature on
which to sustain a lowly existence. A

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life better left secret unknown, kept
away from those who possess the will for

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joy, who seek out the pleasures
and satisfactions of life. The monotony of

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this inner maze, both physical and
mental, is as a mirror, one

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in which I see the worst reflection
of myself. I gaze in apathy.

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There is no shock, no remorse. I witness only what I deserve.

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I've been driven deep into my sanctum, deeper still into my mind. My

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beady eyes can see from within and
without. But it doesn't matter, because

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ever further I crawl, ever lower
do I bring my value and expectations.

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The whole I've dug is fathoms deep
in misery. Just when my indifferent epiphany

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reaches its peak, this haven proves
unsafe. Its secret has been discovered.

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A vicious growl rattles this slender escape
route. The beast has found its way

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in four legs, thumping toward me. Of course, I run, what

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else would one do? No matter
how desolate and despaired and accepting of an

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emotionally numb fate, the bodies fight
for survival always kicks in. There's no

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escaping the need to escape. Nature
won't allow it. Air rushes against my

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back as a claw nearly tears flesh. My life is balancing on a thin

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line death laughing on the other side. It's pointing a finger directly at me.

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I've been chosen to this world in
which I don't belong. But a

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thought comes I'd never expect. It, screams with feverish insistence. I don't

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want to die. With that thought, something in me changes, not conjured

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by adrenaline and fear, but by
a fresh light in my soul, a

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new flame to bring life to my
dead insides. In a burst of fury,

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this revelation nignites my blood boils.
I run faster, harder, with

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determination. I want to live.
That's it limit, Now you've got it.

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That kind voice lends hope to my
position in this deadly chase. Sometimes

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the prey gets away, the hunter
doesn't always catch its meal. I dart

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forward with all the strength I have
around a bend and to a weak spot

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on the wall. I claw at
the lathe. A cloud of dust obscures

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my vision. But I pull at
this barrier by feeling alone. I must

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get away. I must escape the
beast that hungers for my life. It

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steps slow as it nears, each
footfall, a hearted stump of impending doom.

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My end is beating its drum,
a song of death played for I

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and I alone. It is my
melody, my unloving goodbye. Old plaster

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finally crumbles and gives way as I
break through and spill back into the hall

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of doors. But in this hall
there is an end. Darkness has not

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claimed it. Calm emerald light shines
from the bulbs above, bathed in an

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illumination of solace. A girl stands
in front of ornate elevator doors. Hello,

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linnit, it's nice to finally meet
you. It's the voice, the

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one which led me from the depths
of an inner hell and out into the

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world of the living, the place
where all hope is not extinct, where

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it grows and flourishes, fills the
air with fresh vibrancy. The mystery how

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this girl knows me? I hadn't
questioned it. In the midst of fear,

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I only scrambled toward any and all
hope, into any light that may

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shine. And her voice was that
brilliant spectrum. So I followed without question

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or doubt. But now wonder piques
my scrabbled mind. It is lost,

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as quickly is found. My pursuer
breaks through the hole I made for myself

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and into the hole behind me.
It shakes off the plaster dust coating its

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body. The creature licks its lips
as it paces back and forth, anxious

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and waiting to devour my flesh.
Despite my frenzied escape, Doom has not

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surrendered its pursuit. It has tracked
me here, cruel and unrelenting. I

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am its meager plaything. But before
death can lay its hand upon me,

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before its cold grasp can take the
breath from my lungs and the heat from

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my body, the girl speaks.
She she leave for Lenin alone. She

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waves her hand at the pacing beast. It squints its eyes and the owls

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incomplaint, before turning and disappearing down
the hall. With a simple, defiant

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stance, an effortless confrontation, this
girl has kept the reaper at bay.

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What I mused impossible has occurred before
me. I thought such strength was reserved

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for the vicious and empowered, the
speakers of great stature and doors of amazing

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things, never for the meek or
average among us. But all you need

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is a voice. Words possess great
power. I'm sorry she chased you where

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she did. She only sees people
as they see themselves. The girl looks

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down at my pathetic form, the
inferior skin I wear, the shield of

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scars, burns and bruises, my
mental image that shrouds me as the worst

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version of myself. That what the
hunter saw. I hadn't looked in so

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long. I'd forgotten from where I
came, misremembered who and what I am.

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This blanket of healed stitching smothers the
light inside, covers all that is

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good within me. For too long
I have worn it, fused with my

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being, It grew wormed its way
inside. It reached for the core of

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my soul and suckled until it flickered
out, like a dead star in the

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night sky. But through the words
of this strange girl, it has begun

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to retreat. Its greed, for
my essence has faltered, and the feast

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of suffering no longer satisfies its fading
appetite, a craving for something else,

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a longing for what I've feared so
long, bonds from my center. It

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blooms through my veins and reaches as
far as my extremities will allow. My

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soul begins to shine once again.
Its warmth releases my inner self from the

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slowing cold of dead space. Stand
up, Lennard, you don't have to

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crawl any longer. I didn't know
it was possible until I heard those words.

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They had to be spoken, else
the metamorphosis could never take place.

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It was like a spell to break
myself imposed punishment. I'd banished myself from

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humanity, shoved away the pursuit of
happiness, the right to joy, a

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human right while I didn't think I
deserved. I shed my carapace of self

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loathing and push myself up, Straighten
my cramped and crooked legs. Bones crack

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from their strained positions. As I
straightened myself, I stand tall, breathe

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deep. My face looks forward,
no longer pointed to the ground, at

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my own filth, at the failth
of the world. See. I don't

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know why you thought of yourself as
a rat. You have no tail,

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silly. I look down at my
hands and curled my fingers to my palms,

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my human fingers, my human palms. She's right, I don't have

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a tail, nor does fur cover
my body. I'd left my humanity behind

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at some point, being lost in
this place so long I couldn't stand to

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be me, to be the lonely
and unloved, the forgotten and ignored.

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I lost every one long ago,
and so I misplaced myself here. But

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now I have a voice. I
have the power to start again, to

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make a life to live. Come
limmed. You won't be lost any longer

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if you leave this place. I
look at her with watery eyes. My

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00:22:27.200 --> 00:22:34.799
hands tremble as nerves fire in bursts
of reanimating energy. I speak for the

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first time, use the will of
force. I've been gifted. I'm afraid.

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She motions with her hand and behind
her the elevator doors open. I

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take a deep breath and step inside. Thank you for listening to episode two

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of season five. Today's author was
Lee Andrew Foreman with his story Carapass.

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Today's story featured Graham Rowitt as Leonard
and Ambercollins as Victoria. Our season five

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producers are Daniel Foytech and Meg Williams. Our resident composer and music director is

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Nico Vites of We Talk Of Dreams. Our art director is Janet Andromeda.

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Artwork for today's episode was created by
Greg Schaefer, our webmaster and graphic designer.

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Our editors are Meg Williams and Daniel
Foytech. To find out more about

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today's contributors and all the members of
our team, please visit Victoria'slift dot com

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00:23:48.880 --> 00:23:52.240
and check out their biopages. If
you'd like to help us keep bringing you

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Victoria's adventures, please consider supporting us
on Patreon at patreon dot com, forward

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Slash Victoria's Lift. Victoria's Lift is
created by Ninth Story of Studios LLLC.

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All rights reserved.

