Written in the viewpoint of the character

I dreamed of greater things today, I dreamed of what I want to be. What I want . . . or what I was meant to be. Was I meant to be great? No, no one is born into such a status . . . we must toil with our services in life before we are granted such a penance . . . That is what they tell me, yet I do not believe them . . . but who am I to claim that I’ve been denied a destiny? Perhaps it’s a past life . . . But I’ve lived so long, how could it . . . Did I forget things over time? These scars tell me I have . . . I don’t know where I got them, yet they’re there . . . they’ve always been there . . . Those wings, were they mine? What happened to them? Why can’t I remember . . .

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