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You wonder, sometimes, why he gave you the vial of chamalla, three-quarters full. Why he trusted you to take them as instructed, as prescribed, why he trusted you not to take too many.
You've done it. More than just this once, but you managed to stay on your feet the first time, through the dizziness and nausea, with visions and hallucinations of every kind. The second time you couldn't, and you collapsed. But you woke up.
This time, you won't. Your work is done, and gods, how you want to see Earth, but you daren't. At least the pain will be gone.