This following text was created using a predictive text algorithm trained on Robin Hobb’s Assassin’s Apprentice and Pierce Brown’s Red Rising.
I was born handsome; face angular and slim like a dog, but with reservations.
My father and my mother taught me to play with scythes and I was small enough to make myself look like a stork. My brother was killed by a massive fireplace filling the room with soup… or something that looked like soup. To this day I organize my army in my mouth, and I echo my hands and I am strong in the face.
Chade does not know that Burrich has been stolen from the stables.
I think you know what I know what I want, to be technic.
The proctors are helping King Shrewd and Prince Verity to find beds for the wedding. I will be stronger than naturally occurring bone density on their electronic frequency, but I’m not even a real puppy. I could not protect the Jackal from Cassius, and his eyes are blacker than my heart. My slingblade looks like a child when they marry a horse.
I am pleased to see that my uncle is my king. He will not be satisfied until he discovers that I was a red helldiver of Lykos. That is all there is to say.
My face is strange like a toad in a basket of bread and bacon and a half dozen horses. Had I not a reaper’s scythe, I would not recognize vengeance now that Chivalry is a serious soldier.
It is difficult to explain why Mickey laughs at butterflies.
He is not a real friend, because he killed the bloodydamn monsters that I had thought were my feet.
I am pleased to know that Burrich was trying to kiss me.
I am in control of my own ass.
My ass is a legend of the Institute, it is true.
The Fool tells me that he deleted my wife, and I believe that is something else to kill him for. He does not like to be seen in my bed, and I am pledged to the king despite my height advantage.
I feel like spider legs.
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