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Raktuber?

There is so little of me left now.

I am unravelling, literally.

My hands are now a collection of knives and my skin is no longer my own.

I hear the blood pumping in the veins of my coworkers, even as their hearts stop beating. Their blood still feels warm on my claws.

There is a terrible darkness where my memories once were.

Who am I?

[The rest of the journal has been torn to ribbons and is stained a disturbing shade of red]

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