Nothing ever changes within the forest. Public joy is shameful, pleasure fleeting, and you're not allowed to talk about what you're missing. They tell you what not to say, because that's the best way to make sure you think about it all the time. The younger generation is taught to be just as miserable as the older, allowing the perpetual miasma of depression to occupy fresh hosts. And so the facade which calls itself 'life' goes on across the centuries. Without change and, for the pain of loss, without end.

There's nothing new in the forest. There never will be.

And then there is.

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