The garden I was put in charge of was nothing more than a haven of thistles. I became lethargic from its fermented, rotten produce. I tried to arouse my senses over and over again to restore it to the beauty I once envisioned. I was chased off, again and again, by the rabid dogs who were once my companions. I am sentenced to continually return to the edges of the garden of thorns to care for the two precious saplings arising from this den of noxious weeds.
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