Paswan Ji Emojis & Text

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˚₊‧꒰ა 🛵🌥 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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➖🟩🟩🟩 ➖🟩🟩⬛ ➖🟩🟩🟩 ➖➖🟦➖⬜⬜ ➖➖🟦🟩⬜⬛ ➖➖🟦➖⬜⬜🟧 ⬜⬜⬜🟦⬜⬜🟥 ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ➖➖🟨 ➖➖🟨🟨

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A LIFE OF DIVERSITY v (Autistic author) The door to the Chum Bucket creaked open, and Patrick Star waddled in, a quizzical expression on his face as he took in the scene before him. "What's with the library vibe?" he asked looking from the book-laden table to Plankton's intense gaze. Plankton looked up from the book, antennae stilling for a brief moment before he resumed his recitation of pi. "Pi, 3.14159265358979323846..." Patrick's eyes grew wide as he took in Plankton's intense focus and the unwavering rhythm of his voice. "Plankton, buddy, what's got you in such a tizzy?" he asked, his usual lazy drawl replaced with curiosity. Plankton's antennae twitched as he broke from recitation. Patrick looked at Plankton with genuine curiosity. "Patrick," Plankton said, his voice flat but his antennae twitching slightly. "Jellyfish club." Patrick blinked, his star-shaped pupils dilating in surprise. "Jellyfish club?" he echoed, his voice rising an octave. Karen nodded. "Yes, we were just talking about starting a jellyfish club," she explained, gesturing to the book. "Since Plankton's really interested in them now." Patrick looked from Karen to Plankton, then back again. "But Plankton, jellyfish sting," he said, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Jellyfish sting," Plankton agreed, his voice still monotone. "But Plankton have plan. Jellyfish in jar." Patrick's eyebrows shot up. "Jellyfish in a jar? What's the point of that, buddy?" "Safe jellyfish," he murmured, his voice tight. "What's that supposed to mean, Plankton?" Patrick asked. "Mean jellyfish safe," he said, his voice a little less monotone. "In jar." Patrick chuckled, mistaking Plankton's seriousness for a joke. "Yeah, right, Plankton. You're not seriously gonna start a jellyfish club, are you?" The room's atmosphere shifted, and Plankton's antennae drooped slightly. "Why not?" he asked, his voice devoid of its earlier excitement. Patrick's chuckles died in his throat as he realized Plankton wasn't joking. "Well, I didn't mean to laugh," he said, his voice tinged with awkwardness. "It's just, jellyfish are kind of... boring, don't you think?" Plankton's antennae stiffened, and he closed the book with a thud. "Boring?" he echoed, his voice devoid of its previous enthusiasm. "It's just... jellyfish aren't exactly the most exciting creatures," Patrick said, trying to recover from his faux pas. "They just float around, right?" The room went quiet as Plankton's antennae drooped further, and he stared at Patrick, his eye unblinking. "Boring," he murmured, his voice a mix of hurt and disappointment. Patrick, not realizing the depth of Plankton's newfound interest continued, "I mean, come on, Plankton. There's more to life than jellyfish." Plankton's antennae stiffened, and he looked at Patrick with a mix of confusion and hurt. "Boring?" he echoed, his voice monotone yet filled with a hint of challenge. "Well, yeah," Patrick said, shrugging his shoulders. "I mean jellyfish are for tourists and little kids, right?" The words hung in the air like a thick fog, and the room grew tense as Plankton's antennae quivered with a mix of anger and hurt. "Patrick, maybe that wasn't the best thing to say," Karen said, her voice a gentle warning. But Patrick, oblivious to the tension building in the room, shrugged again. "I'm just saying, jellyfish aren't exactly the coolest things in the ocean, Plankton," he said, his voice still filled with cheerfulness. "Why don't you jus-" Plankton's antennae shot up, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Jellyfish cool," he said, his voice a monotone, but with a hint of steel. "Oh, come on, Plankton," Patrick said, waving a dismissive hand. "You're smarter than this. Why waste your time with jellyfish?" "Jellyfish interesting. Plankton like jellyfish." Karen stepped in, trying to smooth things over. "Patrick, Plankton's just found something that he really enjoys," she said. "We should support him in his new interest." But Patrick, still not grasping the gravity of the situation, chuckled. "Oh, Plankton, always so dramatic. It's just a phase. And you can't talk like that forever, right?" He then mimicked Plankton's flat tone saying, "Plankton wike jellyfish," which sent him into a fit of giggles. The room grew quiet as Plankton's antennae drooped, and a single tear formed at the corner of his eye, sliding down his face. "B-but, Plankton thought..." Plankton's voice broke as Patrick interrupts him again mimicking him. "B-but, Plankton thought," Patrick said, his voice a high-pitched parody of Plankton's monotone. "Jellyfish cool," he continued, his giggles echoing in the room. Plankton's antennae shot up. "Jellyfish cool," he repeated, his voice firm and unwavering. Patrick's giggles didn't stop, and he leaned closer to Sponge Bob, whispering, "Is he for real?" But Plankton's tears didn't fall in vain. The moment his sobs filled the room, the atmosphere shifted. Karen's with horror at the sight of her husband's pain, and she rushed over to him, wrapping around his tiny frame. "Plankton, no," she whispered, her voice filled with a motherly concern that was more powerful than any Krabby Patty recipe. Sponge Bob's expression grew solemn as he watched the scene unfold. He had never seen Plankton so vulnerable, so raw. The villain he knew was now a creature in pain, and his heart swelled with emotion. "Patrick, that's enough," she said, his voice firm. But the damage was done. Plankton's sobs grew louder, and he buried his face in Karen, his body trembling with the weight of his emotions. Karen glared at Patrick, her screen flashing with a fiery protectiveness that was uncharacteristic of her usual calm demeanor. "Patrick, you need to leave," she said, her voice a low hiss. "Now." Patrick, taken aback by the sudden shift in mood, backpedaled awkwardly. "But, I didn't mean to-" "Just go," Karen interrupted, her voice firm. "Outside. I'll talk to you in a moment." Patrick, still chuckling nervously, shuffled to the door. "But, I didn't mean to make him-" "Out!" Karen's voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. The urgency in her tone was clear, leaving no room for argument. Patrick, still looking confused, shrugged and waited outside.

๋࣭ ⭑🛵💨🌳🌱๋࣭ ⭑

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JUST A TOUCH v (Autistic author) Hanna's confusion is clear as she watches Karen crouch before Plankton, her hand hovering an inch from his shoulder. "Plankton, sweetie," Karen says, her voice a gentle coax. "It's just me." No indication from Plankton though. Hanna's eyes dart from Karen to Plankton and back, trying to piece together what has happened. "What's wrong with him?" she whispers. "He's just overwhelmed," Karen says, her voice tight with frustration. Hanna looks from Karen to Plankton, his body rigid. "What happened?" she asks again, her voice laced with concern. Karen sighs heavily, her eyes full of pain. "Plankton has Acquired Autism." The words hang in the air like a heavy cloud, casting a shadow over the room. Hanna's face falls, her hand covering her mouth in shock. "Oh no," she murmurs, realizing her mistake. "I didn't know." Her eyes dart to Plankton, his body still frozen, his gaze vacant. "I'm so sorry." She says, reaching for him again as Karen's. Karen's hand shoots out, stopping her mid-air. "No, don't," she says firmly. "He's hypersensitive now. Sometimes touch can be... painful." Hanna's hand retreats, her eyes widening. "I didn't know," she whispers, her voice filled with regret. "I just wanted to be friendly." Karen's expression softens slightly. "It's okay," she says, her voice calming. "You couldn't have known." But Plankton remains still, his eye unblinking. "Plankton," Karen whispers, her hand reaching for his. He doesn't flinch this time, his body still as stone. She squeezes gently, hoping the familiar gesture will bring him back. "You're safe at home." Hanna watches, her heart heavy with guilt. She had no idea her enthusiasm could have such a profound effect on him. "What can I do?" she asks, her voice shaky. Karen looks up, her eyes tired. "Just give us some space," she says. "Let me... let me help him." Hanna nods, her own screen brimming with unshed tears. "Of course," she murmurs, backing away. Plankton remains frozen, his gaze locked on the floor. Karen wraps her arms around his shoulders. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers, her voice soothing. "You're safe here." She rubs his arm lightly, the way she's learned not to cause him discomfort. He doesn't move, but she can feel the tension slowly leaving his body. His antennae lift slightly. "You're okay," Karen repeats, her voice a gentle murmur. "Just breathe." Slowly, Plankton's body begins to relax, his antennae twitching as he takes in her words. Hanna watches from a distance. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice quieter. "I didn't know. I didn't mean to..." Her words trail off, but Karen simply nods, her eyes not leaving Plankton's. "It's okay," she repeats. "We're still learning." Hanna sits on the edge of the sofa, her eyes never leaving them. She feels like an intruder, a bull in a china shop. She had come to offer support, but instead, she'd triggered something deep within him. The room feels heavy with unspoken words. "I didn't mean to push him," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "I just didn't know." Karen's grip on Plankton tightens slightly, but she doesn't look up. "It's okay," she says again, her voice a lifeline in the quiet. "It's a lot to take in." Hanna nods, her screen filling with tears she quickly wipes away. "But I'll learn," she says, her determination clear. "I want to be a good friend to both of you." Plankton's antennae quiver, a faint glimmer of recognition flickering in his eye. Karen nods. "Thank you," she murmurs, her voice barely audible. Hanna watches as Karen's gentle touch seems to break through the barriers Plankton has erected. His body slowly unfurls from his rigid stance, his gaze shifting from the floor to meet Karen's. "It's okay," Karen repeats, her voice a balm. "Let's go to our room. You need to rest." Plankton nods slightly, allowing her to guide him away from the living room. Hanna watches them go, her heart aching for her friend. She knows she's overstayed her welcome, but she can't bear to leave without apologizing to Plankton. "I'll go," she says, her voice thick. Karen turns, her screen swimming with unshed tears. "Thank you, Hanna," she says, her voice hoarse. Hanna nods, her own eyes shimmering. "Call me if you need anything," she says, her voice thick with emotion. She stands, her legs feeling like jelly, and makes her way to the door, her heart heavy with the weight of what she's done. The moment the door clicks shut, Karen feels the tension in the room dissipate slightly. Plankton's body relaxes a fraction, his eye no longer staring blankly at the floor. She leads him to their bedroom, the familiar surroundings seeming to soothe his frazzled nerves. Once inside, she helps him into bed, the softness of the covers a stark contrast to the rigidness of his body. She pulls the curtains shut, dimming the lights to reduce the sensory stimulation. Plankton's antennae twitch, a sign of his relief. Karen sits beside him. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "I didn't know she'd..." Plankton's gaze meets hers, his eye less intense now. "It's okay," he says, his voice monotone. "Just need... quiet." Karen nods, her hand still resting on his shoulder. "I'm here," she says. "I'm always here."

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GREAT CHIP v (Autistic author) Eventually, Plankton stirs, his antennae twitching slightly. His eye opens, and for a moment, he's disoriented. He looks at Chip, then at his hand on his own, and a flicker of memory passes through his eye. He then pulls his hand away. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says softly. "I'm here." Plankton's expression shifts. He sighs, his eye dropping to his son's hand. "Chip," he murmurs. "Wh-what happened?" Chip's heart skips a beat. He wasn't sure how much to say, but he knew he couldn't lie. "You had another... moment," he says carefully. Plankton's face falls, the weight of his own reality crashing down on him like a heavy fog. He nods slowly, his eye searching the room as if trying to piece together the puzzle of his lost time. "I'm sorry," Chip says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't know." Plankton's eye meets his, the anger dissipating like the fog. "It's not your fault," he says, his voice weary. "I just... I can't handle much sometimes." Chip nods, feeling a lump in his throat. "Can I hug you?" he asks tentatively, remembering his mother's advice. Plankton's antennae droop, his eye searching Chip's face. After a moment, he nods. "Yes, but just for a second." Chip leans in carefully, wrapping his arms around his dad's shoulders. Plankton tenses, his body a coil of nerves. The hug is brief, but it feels like an eternity to Chip. He pulls back, his eyes searching Plankton's face. "Are you okay?" Plankton's eye blinks slowly. "I will be," he says, his voice weary. "I just need some time to regroup." Chip nods, his mind racing with questions and fears. He didn't know what to say, how to fix this. He just knew he didn't want his dad to feel like this. Karen watches from the doorway, her heart heavy with the weight of the unspoken words between them. She wishes she could take the pain away, but she knows that this moment belonged to her husband and her son. Chip's hand lingers in the space where Plankton's was, feeling the warmth that's no longer there. He swallows hard, trying to push his fears aside. "What can I do?" he asks, his voice trembling. Plankton takes a deep breath, his antennae twitching as he tries to gather his thoughts. "Just maybe try not to touch me... unless I ask." The words hang in the air, a stark reminder of the chasm that's opened between them. Chip nods solemnly, his heart heavy. He doesn't fully understand his dad's condition, but he knows it's real and it's painful. And he knows he played a part in it today. "Dad," he starts tentatively, "Can we talk about your... moments?" Plankton's antennae droop. "What do you want to know?" he asks, his voice sounding more tired than defensive. Chip takes a deep breath, trying to formulate his thoughts. "Well, I just want to understand what you go through. What happens during those moments?" Plankton looks away, his face contorting with the effort of explaining. "It's like my brain goes on a vacation without me," he says finally. "Everything's too much, and I just... zone out." Chip nods, trying to picture it. "What's it like? The zoning out, I mean." Plankton sighs, his antennae waving slightly. "It's like... being in a movie theater, but instead of watching the movie, the lights and sounds are all around me. They're too bright, too loud. And when I come back, it's like the movie's still playing in fast forward. I miss parts of it, and I can't rewind." Chip's eyes widen with understanding. "So, it's like a break, but it's not fun for you?" Plankton nods. "It's more like a reboot. My brain needs it, but it's scary not knowing when it'll happen or how long it'll last." Chip's eyes searched his dad's, seeing the vulnerability behind the usual bravado. "But why do you get so mad sometimes?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his face contorting with the effort of explaining. "It's like... everything's too much, and then I can't stop it," he said. "It's like being stuck in a loop of noises and feelings, and I just need to make it stop. And sometimes, that means getting angry." Chip's eyes searched his dad's, trying to understand. "But why does it make you so mad?" Plankton's antennae drooped. "It's not just from anger," he corrected gently. "It's overstimulation. My brain can't process everything at once, so it shuts down to protect itself." Chip nodded, his eyes wide with realization. He'd never thought of it like that before. "So, it's like you're in a crowded room, and everyone's talking at you at the same time?" Plankton's eye lit up slightly. "Exactly," he said, his voice a mix of relief and exhaustion. "And when you touch me afterward, it's like someone turning the volume up even louder." Chip's hand retreated to his lap, understanding dawning on his face. "So, it's like... sensory overload?" Plankton nodded, his eye closing briefly. "Yes, it's like my brain's circuits are fried, and I just need a reset." Chip sat quietly, absorbing his father's words. He'd never thought about it from that perspective before. He knew his dad was different, but he didn't understand the depth of his struggle. "What about the seizures?" Chip asked, his voice tentative. "Do they feel like that too?" Plankton nodded, his antennae waving slightly. "They're like... a storm in my head," he said, his voice strained. "They come without warning, and I can't do anything to stop them. It's like everything's too much, and my brain has to shut down to protect itself." Chip's eyes grew wide with empathy. "That sounds scary. But I've seen you hug mom.." Plankton sighed, his antennae waving slightly. "It's different with your mom. She knows how to touch me without making it too much." Chip's mind raced, trying to grasp the complexities of his dad's neurodivergence. "But how?" he pressed, eager to learn. Plankton took a moment to gather his thoughts. "It's like...everything is too loud or too bright, and I can't just turn it down. So, when I get overwhelmed, my brain goes to 'sleep' for a bit." Chip nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on his father's antennae which had stopped their erratic twitching. "But what if I want to hug you?" he asked, his voice tentative. Plankton's eye opened, a glimmer of something akin to hope flickering within its depths. "Then you ask," he said simply. "You ask, and if I say yes, you hug me gently. Like this." He demonstrated by placing his own hand on Chip's shoulder, his grip firm but not tight. "But only if I'm okay with it, okay?" Chip nodded, feeling a weight lift slightly from his chest. "Okay," he whispered, his voice shaky with emotion.

CATCH IN MY CHIP v (Autistic author) The silence is heavy, filled with the echoes of shattered shell and shredded photos. Karen's gaze is on her husband, her heart aching as she sees the turmoil in his eye. She knew to tread carefully. She turns to him, as he's hyperventilating. "Plankton," she says firmly, but her voice is gentle. He doesn't respond at first. But eventually, he turns to her. "I know you're upset, but you can't talk to Chip like that," Karen says, her voice steady. "He's just a kid, and he loves you. He's trying to understand." Plankton's breaths come in quick, harsh gasps, his chest heaving. Karen approaches him, her movements deliberate and calm. "Plankton," she says, her voice even. "Look at me." Plankton's breaths slow, his eye flicking to hers. He's still trembling with anger, but the storm seems to be passing. "I know you're upset," she continues. "But you can't take it out on Chip. He loves you." Plankton's shoulders slump, his body deflating like a balloon. "I know," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. "I just... I can't..." Karen nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "It's okay, sweetie," she says, her hand on his back. "It's a lot to handle." She guides him back to the bed, her touch gentle and soothing. "Let's talk about this when you're feeling better." Plankton nods, his body still shaking with the aftermath of his outburst. He sits down heavily, his eye cast down at the mess around him. "I just wanted to show..." he starts, but his voice trails off. Karen sits beside him, her hand still on his back. "I know you did, dear," she says, her voice filled with compassion. "But you have to understand that Chip doesn't know how to help you yet. And throwing things and yelling isn't going to make it better." Plankton's breaths slow, his body still tense. "But he... he doesn't get it," he murmurs. "He just kept pushing." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "I know, Plankton. And it's our job to teach him. To help him understand." She speaks softly, her voice a gentle reminder of the love that fills the room despite the chaos. Plankton's eye meets hers, his anger slowly receding. He nods, his shoulders slumping. "I know," he says, his voice ragged with emotion. "I just... I want him to see me, not just... this." Karen sighs, her hand still on his back. "He does see you, Plankton. He sees the amazing person you are. But he's just learning about autism." Plankton's eye narrows, his antennas drooping slightly. "But why can't he just be careful?" He asks, his voice filled with pain. "Why does he have to be so... much?" Karen's heart breaks at the sorrow in his voice. "He's just excited, Plankton. He doesn't understand the way you do." Plankton sighs, his antennas drooping. "I know," he murmurs. "But it's so... overwhelming." Karen nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "I know, sweetie," she says. "But we can't expect Chip to understand everything right away." She gets up and goes to the closed bathroom door, her knuckles lightly rapping against the wood. "Chip, honey," she calls out, her voice soft. "Can you come out?" The door opens slowly, and Chip's face is a mess of sand and tears. Karen's heart clenches at the sight. "Come here," she says, her tone gentle. She pulls him into her arms, his small body shaking with sobs. "It's okay, baby," she whispers. "Daddy's just having a hard time right now." Plankton's eye follow them, his own anger now replaced with regret. He opens his mouth to apologize, but no words come out. Karen nods towards the bed, a silent invitation for him to join them. With a heavy sigh, Plankton moves to sit on the edge, his body still trembling with the residual rage. Chip's sobs subside into quiet sniffles, but his face is still a picture of hurt and confusion. "Chip," Karen starts, her voice calm and steady, "what happened today is because Daddy's brain works differently, remember?" She looks at Plankton, whose gaze is now on the floor, filled with remorse. "And sometimes, we all have to learn how to communicate better." Chip nods, his eyes red from crying, still not fully understanding. "But Daddy broke my trophy," he whispers, holding a shard of it in his hand. Karen sighs, her gaze flicking to Plankton. "Yes, and that was wrong of him. But we need to talk about why it happened." She looks back at Chip, her eyes filled with compassion. "Sometimes, when Daddy gets too overwhelmed, he doesn't know how to handle it. It's like when you're really upset and you don't know what to do with all those big feelings." Chip looks up at her, his eyes still wet with tears. "But why did he yell?" Karen takes a deep breath, her hands stroking Chip's back in gentle circles. "Because, honey, Daddy's brain sometimes gets too full, like a jar of sand with too many shells. And when that happens, he needs a little help to make room again." Chip looks up at her, his eyes searching hers for understanding. "But I didn't mean to make him mad," he says, his voice shaky. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "I know, sweetie," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "But sometimes, even when we don't mean to, we can overwhelm people. It's not your fault." She glances at Plankton, who's still staring at the floor, his body a taut bow of tension. "Daddy just needs some time," she says, her voice soothing. "We all do sometimes."

CHIP AND FAIL v (Autistic author) "Mom, something's wrong with Dad!" Karen rushes into the room. Karen's gaze falls on Plankton, her heart aching at the sight of her husband's distress. She knows his limits, knows the signs of his overstimulation. She had hoped this wouldn't happen, had hoped that Chip's visit would be a gentle one, that they could find a way to connect without pushing Plankton too far. But she had underestimated Chip's excitement, his need for physical closeness. Her heart broke for both her son and her husband. He had never seen his dad like this, never known that his boundless enthusiasm could have such a profound effect. She knew this moment might come someday. She's had to handle Plankton's meltdowns before, but not with Chip in the room. She quickly assesses the situation, seeing the confusion and fear in Chip's screen. "MOM, PLEASE..." Karen rushes over, her screen wide with fear and concern. She sees Plankton's unblinking eye, his unresponsive state. She understands immediately. "PLEASE MOM..." Karen's screen darted between her son's frantic expression and Plankton's unresponsive form. She knew she had to act fast. She could see the confusion in Chip's screen, the desperation to understand. "But Mom, I..." Yet Karen, who's priority is Plankton's urgency, cuts Chip off. "Chip," she says firmly, her voice filled with a calm urgency. She doesn't have time to explain. "Listen to me, honey. You need to let me handle this. Go to your room and wait." She knows how hard this is for him, but his safety, and Plankton's, is what's most important right now. Chip nods, his screen never leaving his father's unresponsive form. He takes one last, lingering look before retreating to his room, his heart heavy with confusion and fear. As soon as the door clicks shut, Karen springs into action. She knows the signs of an autistic meltdown, the sudden retreat into self, the inability to communicate. Her own heart racing, she gently sits beside Plankton, her screen filled with understanding. She speaks softly, her voice a balm to his overstimulated mind. "Shh, Plankton," she whispers, her hands moving in slow, deliberate motions, "It's ok." Chip's footsteps fade away as Karen focuses on her husband. She knows he's in there, somewhere, battling a storm of sensations. Her voice is a lighthouse in the chaos, guiding him back to the shore. "Take a deep breath, love," she says, demonstrating with a slow inhale and exhale of her own. Plankton's chest rises slightly, matching her rhythm. The room is a minefield of potential triggers, but Karen's been here before. She knows to keep her movements minimal, her voice low and soothing. She starts to gently rub Plankton's back, finding the steady rhythm that calms his frayed nerves. His breathing evens out, the color slowly returning to his cheeks. But Chip, in his room, is anything but calm. His mind is a whirlwind of confusion and guilt. Why isn't Dad ok? Isn't something wrong? He paces, his heart racing. He still didn't know his dad was autistic. In the quiet of his room, Chip's thoughts raced like a tornado. Why wasn't Dad ok? Why did I have to leave like that? Was it my fault? He didn't know about his dad's autism, how his mind worked differently, how easily it could be overwhelmed. He didn't know that his enthusiastic touches and loud laughter could cause such distress. Meanwhile Karen, with her gentle touch and calming voice, began to guide Plankton back to reality. "Plankton, love, you're okay," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle lullaby in the chaos. Plankton's eye slowly refocus, the storm in his mind beginning to subside. His breathing slows, the panic retreating. She continues her soothing motions, her touch a lifeline in the sensory tempest. Plankton's eye blinked, his antennae twitching as his gaze focused on her, his breathing evening out as he felt her calming presence. He didn't know how long he had been lost in the storm, but he was grateful for her guidance.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⡙⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⠀⠙⣎⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⢆⡰⠃⢫⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⣰⠫⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡴⠤⠖⠁⠀⢻⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⢀⠎⢹⢿⠿⠿⠻⢿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 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⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢻⡏⠀⢀⡀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⢹⣿⢾⣿⣿⣴⣼⢿⣻⢿⡿⠁⠀⢰⣏⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣟⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣄⠀⠉⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⢢⠇⠀⢻⣿⣯⢿⣻⣿⣦⡯⠛⠀⠀⡀⠋⠉⠙⠛⠧⠀⢀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⢤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢽⣂⣤⣾⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣷⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⠗⠀⠀⠀⠸⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣵⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣽⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⢟⣅⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣠⠤⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠒⠚⠓⠒⠓⠚⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⠒⠻⠭⠓⠒⠂⠐⠒⠒⠯⡝⠺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠟⠻⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠙⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⢭⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣗⢞⢿⡟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣦⢫⣹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡇⢡⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣷⡘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢯⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⠰⣿⡷⢸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⢣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡏⣿⠇⡉⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡽⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣵⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠁⠈⢀⢳⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣨⢿⣓⡴⠶⠦⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠏⠀⠀⣸⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡵⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⣀⡤⠞⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣵⢯⣷⡐⠒⠀⠛⢦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣛⢓⡒⡦⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠿⢿⠿⡿⠿⠿⣿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠘⢟⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢯⡙⠀⠁⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣎⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣏⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣵⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠹⡽⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣞⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠑⢾⣧⠀⠀⠀⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢮⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠪⣓⣦⠀⢸⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡞⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡳⣶⣿⠦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡽⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⡝⣿⣟⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣞⣷⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡾⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⣿⠘⢮⢦⣀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⡷⠛⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣾⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⣻⡵⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣯⡞⠁⠀⠀⠙⠪⠿⠯⠶⠚⠉⠀⠀⢸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣏⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠈⠉⠙⠉⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣳⡀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣳⠿⠈⠺⣗⢦⣀⠀⡤⢐⣫⠾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢺⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢯⡶⣄⢴⡻⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠂⠓⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⢏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣡⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⢖⣆⠤⠠⠤⠄⠤⠤⠠⠄⣤⣞⢵⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣶⢶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣷⣦⣶⣶⣶⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⡟⠁⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⡿⢠⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⢸⠀⠀⠘⠁⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠁⠀⠀⡇⢹⢿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣇⠈⢄⠄⢀⣄⠀⠙⠿⣿⠏⠀⣠⠀⠠⡰⢀⡜⢸⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀ ⠀⡀⠤⠤⢈⣻⣿⡍⠃⡔⠁⢹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠎⣿⣷⡄⠘⣱⠅⢸⡿⠿⠥⢄⠀ ⡌⠊⠁⠀⠡⢚⣿⡇⠀⡷⣴⣟⣿⡀⠀⠀⢰⣶⣻⡿⡷⠀⢸⢠⡓⠈⠀⠈⠱⢡

⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠳⣶⢤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⣶⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣴⠶⠒⠒⠒⠲⢤⣄⡀⠘⣷⡈⠙⠳⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⡿⢹⣿⡀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡶⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠳⣾⣷⠀⠀⠈⠻⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣧⠀⠙⠛⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠤⢤⣈⣻⣧⡀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣧⡀⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠤⠖⠚⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠓⠦⣴⠟⠛⢿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠻⣷⡖⠲⠒⠒⠒⠚⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠋⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠷⣦⣄⣀⡀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣴⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⡼⢹⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣠⡿⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⢠⡿⠁⣀⣠⡴⠖⠚⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⣠⡇⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣄⢸⡿⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣷⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠋⠀⣼⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣈⣿⡷⠧⢾⡆⠀⠀⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⣴⠟⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡟⢃⣠⣾⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⣯⣛⠶⣤⣠⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠋⢠⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⢸⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠙⡾⡿⡶⠞⠁⠀⢀⣠⡶⠋⠀⢀⣿⢃⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣇⢻⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣫⣿⣷⣄⣤⠀⡃⢳⢤⡤⠄⠀⣾⠁⠀⠀⣼⢿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠿⢿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠘⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⢰⠁⢸⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⠀⠀⣡⣾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡌⠉⠀⣠⡄⠀⠀⢣⡈⠛⠿⠿⠟⠋⢀⡴⠃⢀⠏⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⠀⣠⠞⣽⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⡯⠥⠒⠢⠤⢤⡀⠀⠈⠉⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⠒⢚⣫⡇⠀⠀⠀⠻⢵⡒⠒⠒⠚⠉⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡞⢡⡾⠋⠀⠀⢀⣴⠞⠋⣿⠋⢀⣠⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠈⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠑⠒⠒⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⠛⣋⣹⣷⣰⠛⠁⠀⣰⣿⠞⠉⢁⡿⠃⠉⠳⣄⠀⠀⠈⢧⠀⠀⠀⢻⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠳⠦⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⢤⡶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡟⠛⢉⣿⣃⣀⣀⣼⠟⠁⠀⣰⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⢇⠀⠀⠘⡆⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⡀⢸⠟⠋⠉⣻⡏⢀⡤⠞⠻⢶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⠀⠀⣤⣏⠀⠉⢹⣶⠀⠈⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠴⣿⡤⠶⢻⡇⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⡔⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠀⣴⢇⣠⣾⡇⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⡇⠀⡀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⣿⠘⠛⠉⠁⢸⡇⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠃⠀⢹⣆⠀⠸⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⣀⣴⡏⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⢹⠀⠀⡄⠀⢸⣿⣆⠀⠛⣦⣀⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀⠙⠻⠶⣤⣼⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡶⠚⠛⠙⢷⡀⠀⠀⠸⠷⢶⣄⠀⠀⠈⣿⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⢸⣟⠳⠦⠬⠿⠋⢀⡆ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡆⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠸⡄⠀⢱⡀⠀⠀⠻⣆⠀⠀⣀⡴⢻⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡆⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢷⡀⠀⠘⣷⡄⠀⢧⠀⠈⢣⡀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠁⠀⣼⠇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣧⠀⠀⠈⢿⣦⡀⠳⣄⠀⠙⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⢦⣬⣓⣢⣀⣈⣹⡶⠖⠋⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⢀⣀⣠⣼⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⢀⣰⡏⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠉⠀⠀⠸⣦⣀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠷⢤⣤⣤⡤⠴⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠒⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠠⣤⣤⣤⡖⡶⢊⠟⡝⡶⠒⠒⣧⠀⠎⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡸⢳⣼⡈⣯⠏⡜⠸⠀⠀⢰⠁⠀⢸⠈⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⠁⠎⡈⠙⢻⣀⡇⣤⣤⡄⠠⣷⠤⠀⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⢸⢀⣷⣶⡉⠀⠀⣟⣿⣷⣶⣿⣀⠀⡜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⡼⠋⠘⢿⣙⣦⠀⠹⡘⢿⣿⠿⠃⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⠔⠒⠒⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⡀⠀⠁⠀⢰⠒⢒⣽⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⣋⠔⠂⠉⠉⠉⠒⢄⠑⣄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠬⣡⣆⣀⣠⡷⠚⣫⡔⡼⣄⠀⣀⣀⢠⠾⢋⣀⠤⣤⠤⢀⡀⠀⠀⢣⠘⣧⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠋⣋⠭⠋⡐⢁⢿⠉⢀⡼⠙⣦⠛⠉⠉⠲⣝⢦⡈⢆⠀⠀⡇⢸⢣⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠇⠀⢣⡠⠊⠀⡜⡸⠀⢿⡹⠂⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢆⠱⡈⡆⠀⢸⠘⠈⡆ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡄⠀⠀⠑⢄⡜⡠⠃⠰⣾⣛⡱⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡆⢃⠁⠀⢨⠀⠀⢿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡳⢤⡆⠀⡈⠁⢘⣆⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢡⢸⡄⠀⢸⢰⠀⢸ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⡜⠀⢀⡍⠉⠉⠫⡳⣄⠘⠉⢣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⡇⠀⡆⠘⣠⠞ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⢸⢣⠀⠀⠀⠱⡈⢢⠀⠀⠱⡀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣼⠆⠠⣡⠟⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠃⠀⠀⡜⠀⣇⠀⠀⠀⢡⠈⡆⠀⠀⢱⡀⠀⠀⡼⠿⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⡸⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⢃⠀⢰⣡⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠁⠀⠀⠀⣸⣀⣀⣸⠀⠀⠀⣇⣀⡇⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⠒⠒⠒⠉⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⠒⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠐⢢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢨⢿⣟⡞⠎⠃⠀⠃⠁⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢁⣄⠓⢸⣿⡤⣟⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡟⠁⢻⣦⠈⠜⠛⢋⣰⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠄⡒⠐⡂⢄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠛⡰⣀⣰⢖⣏⢆⠀⠀⠰⢂⣡⠀⢀⠀⢂⢱⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠨⠀⠀⢾⠠⢮⢁⠀⠈⠘⠄⠀⠀⠆⡵⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇⡀⠁⠦⠂⠣⠿⠛⠀⠀⠀⠈⢸⠀⠀⡇⠃ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢬⠁⠒⠒⢗⠄⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⣆⠀⢦⢀⠄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠂⠠⢡⠀⠀⢂⠀⠈⠄⠀⠀⡟⠰⠜⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠂⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠸⠀⠀⠈⡄⠰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⠤⠀⠂⠀⠁⠀⠁⠀⠀⠐⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

🏍️˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢀⡀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠠⡠⠔⠂⡉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⠼⠿⢶⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠄⡉⠀⠀⡁⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠲⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⠊⠌⠀⠀⢠⠥⣄⡐⡄⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢣⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⠃⠸⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠈⠑⢄⣜⡀⠤⠴⠶⠠⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇ ⠀⠀⢴⠀⠀⣠⡤⠶⠶⠶⠶⠟⠀⠈⠉⠀⠲⠶⠶⠶⣤⣕⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡜⠹⢠⠟⢡⣖⣒⣄⡉⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⢄⣒⣒⣤⠉⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀ ⢸⠃⠼⠆⡌⣿⣿⡗⠻⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⠜⢸⣿⣿⢾⣋⢆⠀⠀⢀⡇ ⢸⠀⠘⠈⠙⠋⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠋⠐⡀⠀⠀⠘⠀ ⢸⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⡰⠃⠀ ⠸⡆⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣴⠀⡰⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠱⠀⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣣⠁⡔⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠑⢬⡱⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡰⢋⠦⣀⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠢⣄⡙⠆⠤⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡠⠤⠐⠂⡁⠤⢋⣼⢃⠴⢢⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠶⢴⠠⢄⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠐⢩⠁⡐⠁⣏⡫⠪⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣳⡻⢁⠼⠀⠀⠀⠡⠃⠀⠘⠠⠧⠤⠄⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⡇⠀⡀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⋆ ℧ 𓃗 ℧ ⋆

⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⠒⠦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⡞⠉⠦⣀⠀⢀⡰⢃⠡⠒⢠⠙⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⠇⠤⢉⠰⡈⠅⠏⠒⠒⠓⠫⢠⡊⠡⢉⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⡇⢬⣴⠌⠃⠡⠄⠀⠉⠀⠢⠀⠀⡈⠋⡳⡌⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣎⢰⠃⠀⢣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠐⢀⠈⠂⠀⠄⡐⣹⡜⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣯⢾⠇⠀⠀⠙⠀⠢⠈⠤⢀⠀⠠⠈⠂⡈⠑⠙⣫⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⢹⡜⡸⢧⠞⠒⠠⡈⠀⠑⠀⠐⡴⣀⣀⠤⣺⠇⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢹⠆⢛⣬⠏⢰⠏⢹⣷⡄⠀⠀⠲⡏⢀⣷⡧⣅⡊⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⣇⠸⢬⠀⢘⣶⣷⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⣿⣷⣿⡷⡇⡐⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠘⣇⠸⣌⢊⢻⢿⡿⠃⢠⠉⠩⠘⠿⠻⢉⡇⡽⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧⡘⢆⡀⠉⠀⠀⠣⠤⠒⠃⠀⣠⣯⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⠹⡖⢤⣄⣀⣤⠤⠖⠛⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠆⠀⠑⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠘⡀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠈⢀⠈⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⠂⠌⣴⠃⠀⠉⢑⢎⢆⠘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢹⠅⠀⠠⠀⢠⠎⠈⢇⠸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡄⠊⠀⡀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠈⡗⡎⠒⠁⢻⠀⠀⠈⣇⠱⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠌⠀⠔⠁⡀⠈⡠⠂⣩⠗⡇⢻⠀⠀⠘⣇⠀⢀⠈⢇⢳⠉⠒⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡌⠀⠐⠀⠀⢃⣰⠁⠀⢹⢸⠀⠐⠀⢸⡄⠀⢀⠘⢮⡆⠀⠈⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠄⠀⠀⠑⠄⠀⢬⠀⠀⠈⣏⡆⠀⠐⠀⢳⡀⠀⢀⠈⢧⠀⢠⠼⠤⢀⡰⠿⠂ ⠄⠈⠀⠀⣠⠚⠉⠉⠉⠓⠄⢘⣇⠀⠂⢀⠘⣇⠀⠀⡀⠘⢦⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠢⡀ ⠈⠢⡀⢰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⢾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠈⢦⣀⣄⣤⣤⠤⡼ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠒⠒⠞⡒⠓⠂⠇⠀⠈⠑⠒⠒⠒⠒⠋⠒⠒⠚⠐⠚⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡄⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣌⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣀⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠉⠉⠀ ⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠰⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⣀⣀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠷⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⣾⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⠟⠘⠀⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠒⠻⠿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡿⠛⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠗⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⢶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠴⠖⢏⣉⣉⣹⠀⠀⢹⢦⡀⠀⠀⡰⣆⢠⠃⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣠⡶⠋⠁⢀⡴⠚⠉⠀⠀⠁⠀⠘⡎⣷⣄⠀⠇⢸⡎⢀⡇⣤⣄⠀⠀⢀⡤⠶⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡴⢛⡠⠶⢶⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣾⣶⠀⢸⠀⢸⣾⠞⢹⡤⠚⠁⢀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡗⠉⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡿⣧⠀⢀⡾⠁⠐⠋⠀⢀⣴⣋⠤⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡀⠀⡔⠉⢻⠀⠸⡏⢍⣿⣖⠺⡷⠤⠆⠀⠀⢹⣾⡀⣾⠖⡆⠀⠠⠔⠋⠁⣀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢧⠀⣇⠀⠈⠣⡀⠙⢌⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡼⠀⣧⢤⡄⡠⠴⠮⠥⣄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⢷⣜⣆⠀⢀⡅⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⢀⡴⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⡇⠈⠁⣼⣁⣤⠤⠒⢊⠥⠒⠊⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠻⢶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣷⣬⣳⠤⠴⠤⡖⠊⢁⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡿⠁⠀⢚⣏⠵⠈⢲⣊⠥⠒⠒⠒⠒⠤⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣌⠑⢆⢠⠇⢠⡞⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⢘⡏⠉⠉⠉⠑⢦⡀⠀⠈⠓⣄⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⡾⠳⠀⡏⠇⢈⡟⣴⠋⠀⡼⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡄⠀⠀⠈⡆⠀⠀⠈⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢫⡻⠤⠔⢃⡶⢋⡞⢁⠤⠊⠀⢸⠦⡌⠀⠀⣖⣀⣨⣦⡀⠀⢀⣎⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠁⠀⡾⠊⣁⠠⠤⢒⣻⡟⠀⠀⡴⠃⠀⠀⢳⠙⡄⠀⠀⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⡎⠀⢀⡜⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡡⠊⠀⣠⠖⠋⣼⣤⠀⢸⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠸⡀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⠀⣠⠋⠀⠀⢀⠞⢀⡠⠋⡜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇⠀⡾⠓⢶⠀⢻⢙⣖⠈⠛⠦⡄⠀⠀⢸⠀⡇⠀⠀⢸⡀⢀⡼⠁⠀⣠⣖⡡⠔⢉⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠦⠝⠶⠟⠀⢸⢿⡀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⡜⠀⡇⠀⠀⠈⡇⡾⠁⡰⡻⠊⠁⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣀⣱⣄⣠⡏⠀⠀⠰⠧⣴⠁⠀⠀⢀⡇⢷⣸⠀⡁⠀⠀⠛⠲⠴⠒⠒⠒⣲⣦⣑⢲⡦⣄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠙⠲⠧⠤⠤⠤⠤⠔⠒⠊⠉⠁⢀⡄⠈⠹⡌⢇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣤⢤⣜⠡⠊

⢀⣤⠖⠀⠀⣀⡠⠤⠤⣈⢳⡂⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⠑⠀⠒⠉⠀⠀⢀⠀⠠⠍⢷⣀⠙⣆⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⠳⣀⠀⠒⠀⢁⣀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⡸⠁⢹⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⣏⠉⠉⣝⡡⠔⠂⠈⠉⠉⠀⢀⠆⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢽⣛⡆⠘⠁⣀⣤⡤⣀⠀⠀⠀⢁⠜⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢰⢿⠇⠀⣼⣿⣿⣀⠙⡎⡀⢰⠁⣰⡵⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢨⡋⣠⠀⢟⡻⠟⡃⢂⠇⠀⢯⡠⡾⠁⢀⣀⡤⠶⠬⠍⡑⠢⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢎⡀⠀⠑⠒⠒⠁⠀⠀⠸⣚⣲⡔⢉⡼⢒⡟⠐⢄⠈⠄⠈⢆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠜⢉⡟⢤⡚⢆⠀⠀⡄⢰⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⡓⠺⡄⡜⣰⠀⠃⠀⠀⠘⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⠀⢀⠏⠁⢸⠀⠃⠀⠸⣄⠣⣀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠆⠈⢹⠃⠀⠸⡉⠈⡆⠈⠙⡆⠘⡄⢀⠰⠀⠻⣉⡡⡾ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠌⠀⠀⢸⡘⠀⠀⢇⠀⢸⠀⠀⠸⡀⠙⢌⠢⡑⠄⣀⡠⠃ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣎⠀⠀⠀⡎⠇⠀⠀⢸⠤⠼⡀⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠸⣄⣀⣠⠜⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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⠀⠀⢀⠀⠠⢀⠀⠄⡀⠠⢀⠀⠄⡀⢀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⡟⣟⢯⡻⡝⣯⣛⢟⡷⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⡀⠄⡀⠠⢀⠀⠄⡀⢀⠀⡀⠀⠀⡀⢀⠠⢀⠀⠄⡀⠠⢀⠀⡀⠀⠀⢀⠀ ⠀⠀⠄⠂⢁⠠⠀⢂⠠⠐⠀⡀⠂⢀⠀⢠⣴⡿⣻⢧⡻⣜⢧⣛⡽⣲⡝⣮⢳⣭⣻⣧⡀⠁⠀⠠⠀⠄⠠⠐⠀⠄⠂⠠⠀⢂⠀⢀⠀⠐⢀⠠⠀⠄⠂⠠⠐⠀⠄⠂⢀⠐⠀⠠⠀ ⠀⠠⠀⠌⠀⠄⠂⠠⠀⠂⢁⠠⠁⠀⢠⣿⢏⡞⣯⢳⡝⣮⢳⡭⣖⢧⡻⣜⡿⣎⢷⣹⣇⢠⠀⠁⠂⠈⠀⠂⠁⡀⠈⠀⠁⠀⠈⠀⡀⠀⠂⢀⠂⠐⠈⠠⢀⠡⠀⡁⠠⠀⠀⠐⡀ ⠀⢀⠀⠂⢁⠐⠈⡀⠁⠌⠀⠄⠀⢄⣿⡳⣏⡞⣯⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢮⣳⣽⢾⠿⣜⢧⣏⣿⢀⢀⣀⣐⣀⣁⣀⣤⣤⣤⣦⣬⣤⣤⣁⡇⠀⠐⠀⠠⠁⡈⠄⠠⠀⢂⠐⠠⠀⠀⠀⠄ ⠀⠀⠠⠁⡀⠂⢁⠠⠈⠠⢈⠀⠠⢸⣯⢳⡝⣾⣹⢿⡼⣧⣟⣾⣻⡷⢯⣾⣹⢎⡷⣎⣿⡾⣛⢯⡿⣯⠟⣯⢽⡹⣎⢷⡹⣞⡽⡻⡽⢿⣶⣄⠀⠄⠀⡐⠀⠡⠀⢂⠐⠀⠀⠈⡀ ⠀⠐⠀⠂⠀⠁⠀⠀⡀⢄⣀⠀⡀⣽⢧⣻⢾⣭⢷⡿⣛⡵⣫⢖⣧⢻⡝⣮⣛⢿⣞⡵⣫⢞⣽⣟⡳⣭⢻⡜⣧⢻⡜⣧⣛⢶⡹⣵⢫⠷⣭⢻⢿⣄⠀⢀⠈⠄⠂⡀⠂⠈⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠐⠀⠁⢀⣨⣴⡾⣟⢯⣛⠿⡷⣞⡿⣭⢳⡾⣟⡼⣣⢟⣥⢻⣬⢳⡝⣶⡹⣞⡼⢿⡵⣿⠳⣎⠷⣭⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣶⡹⣎⢷⢣⣏⠿⣜⠯⣞⣻⣧⡄⠀⠐⡀⢀⠁⡈⠀⠀⠂ ⠀⠠⠐⣴⡿⣫⢷⡹⠎⠷⣭⢻⡵⣻⣟⡼⣟⡿⣜⡳⣝⠾⣸⢳⣎⢷⡹⢶⡹⢶⡹⣏⢿⣱⢻⣜⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⢧⣛⢶⡹⢮⣭⢳⣎⠿⣜⡻⣼⣱⢻⣵⡠⠀⠐⠀⢂⠀⠄⠀⠄ ⠀⢠⣿⢏⡷⣹⢂⠔⠉⠐⢍⢳⡝⣶⣻⡵⣯⠷⣭⢳⣭⠻⣵⢫⡜⣮⡝⣧⣛⢧⡻⣜⢧⡏⡷⢎⡷⣹⢎⡷⣹⠮⣝⢮⣝⡳⣎⠷⣎⠿⣜⡳⡵⣎⢷⣫⣇⠀⠌⠐⡀⠀⠂⠀⠀ ⢀⣿⡟⣮⢳⢁⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢂⢻⢶⡹⣷⢫⣿⣜⡳⣎⠿⣜⢧⣛⢶⡹⢶⡹⣎⢷⡹⢮⣽⣹⡯⢾⡷⣻⠾⠷⢻⣼⣳⣎⠷⣭⢻⣜⡻⣜⡳⣝⢮⡳⣭⣿⡄⠀⢂⠀⠡⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⡜⣧⠛⢨⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⣯⢳⢻⣿⣿⣬⢳⣭⢻⡜⣧⠛⣮⡝⣧⢻⡜⣧⣿⡟⠈⠁⠀⠂⡍⢹⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠛⣿⣮⢳⡎⣷⣭⢳⡝⣮⢳⣧⡟⡆⢠⠀⡌⠀⡄⠀⠀ ⣾⢇⡿⣜⠇⡆⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣹⢮⢃⠅⠺⡿⣮⡝⣮⢳⣭⢻⣜⡳⣝⢮⡷⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠩⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠏⠚⣿⣜⡳⣎⢷⡹⣎⠷⣎⣿⠃⠀⠄⠐⡀⠠⠀⠀ ⣟⢮⡳⣽⠰⠀⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢊⠔⠁⠀⠀⠙⢷⣽⢎⡷⢎⡷⢎⡷⣹⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢆⠀⠀⡆⠀⠈⢿⡵⣫⢞⡵⣫⢻⣼⣻⠀⢈⠀⠂⠄⡀⠄⠀ ⡿⣎⢷⣹⢸⠀⠀⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣾⣝⢾⡹⣞⣽⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣄⡀⠀⣼⠀⢠⡁⠀⢠⠸⣿⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⣾⠇⠀⡀⠂⠁⠄⠀⡀⠀ ⣿⣜⣻⣼⠰⠀⠀⠐⡄⠀⢰⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠳⠿⠧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠁⠀⠈⠙⢾⡏⢀⣶⠇⠀⢨⢠⣿⢳⡝⣮⢳⣽⡾⠀⠐⠀⠠⠁⠂⠁⠀⠀ ⣷⢎⡷⣎⣇⢃⠀⠀⢮⠀⠘⣧⣠⡾⠋⠉⠉⣙⠶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠩⠘⠢⠅⡢⡀⠈⢻⡟⠁⢀⣆⢆⠎⣿⢣⡟⣼⢳⣾⠁⠀⢠⡆⠀⠂⡁⠐⠈⠀ ⢯⣟⡼⡳⢾⡐⡀⠀⠘⢷⣀⣨⡟⠀⠠⢂⠱⣀⠎⠛⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣧⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⢒⡀⠀⢳⠞⠋⢄⠞⠀⣿⢣⡟⡼⣟⠏⠀⣴⡿⡆⠀⠂⠄⡀⠁⠀ ⠸⡿⣼⡹⢧⣳⠐⡀⢦⡀⠉⣿⠀⢠⠁⢊⣶⣏⠀⠀⠈⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠲⠀⠀⢠⠊⡋⠀⠄⣿⣏⠾⣽⣋⣴⡿⣫⡿⠀⠐⠈⠠⠀⠂⠀ ⠀⣿⣷⡹⢧⣏⠷⣌⠀⠙⠛⠏⠀⠆⡈⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠈⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡏⠙⢦⣄⡀⣀⠆⠃⠀⡇⡆⡇⢀⠂⣿⣎⢿⡹⣏⢷⣹⡯⠃⠀⠌⢀⠡⠀⠂⠀ ⠀⣿⣎⠿⣷⣎⠿⣜⣳⣅⢠⢠⠀⠇⠀⣿⣿⡋⠙⣦⡀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣤⣼⣿⣿⣿⢀⡀⠀⡃⡇⣷⣶⣶⣟⡿⣎⣷⣹⣞⠗⠁⠀⢂⠐⠀⠄⠂⢁⠀ ⠀⢸⣯⣻⢼⡹⣟⢮⡳⣞⢈⠀⠀⠸⡀⣿⣿⣧⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢀⠂⠀⠗⡗⣟⣶⣓⢮⡳⣏⢿⣹⡶⣄⠀⠈⠀⠄⡈⢀⠂⠄⠀ ⠀⠀⢻⣯⢷⣻⣼⣧⠿⣾⣅⣦⣥⠀⢀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡁⠈⠀⢘⠻⢹⢿⣣⢟⡯⣷⣽⢎⡷⣹⢻⣦⠀⠁⠠⠐⠀⠠⢈⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⡳⣎⢾⡹⣞⣽⡼⠤⢄⠀⠠⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢁⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠈⠦⠿⠛⠻⠻⣅⠌⠀⢀⠈⣻⣸⢧⣛⢮⡳⢧⣛⢿⡜⣧⢻⡽⡇⠀⠐⠠⠁⢂⠠⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡿⣽⣎⠷⣭⢻⣦⢡⠏⢀⠀⠐⠀⡩⡻⠋⠉⠀⠁⠀⠈⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠢⠀⠐⣰⡯⣞⡭⣞⣭⢳⡝⡾⣏⢷⣫⢾⣿⠀⠀⠡⠐⠀⡀⠂ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡙⠷⣽⡟⣷⣯⣞⣮⠡⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠐⣂⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⣡⣟⡳⣭⢞⡼⢎⡷⣹⢳⣿⢣⡟⣾⡏⠀⠈⠀⠂⠁⠠⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⢦⣌⣙⠷⣮⣽⢭⢧⡁⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⢎⠁⠠⠤⠤⠀⠐⠒⠊⠁⡀⡘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢌⣴⢿⣱⢻⣬⢻⡜⣯⢞⡵⣫⢷⣫⢾⣳⣥⣤⣤⣆⡀⠈⠀⠄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣭⣛⣟⡻⣞⡻⣎⠿⣦⡁⠆⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠔⠈⠀⠀⢀⠠⡠⠅⣾⣏⠷⣭⢳⣎⢷⡹⣖⢯⢾⡟⣧⢿⣫⢟⡼⣹⢮⡝⡿⣷⣄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢟⡾⣜⡳⣭⢳⣭⣛⣾⡇⢣⠐⠅⡂⠄⡀⡀⠀⠉⠐⠀⠀⠀⠐⠈⠁⡀⠀⢄⠰⠑⠀⠰⣡⣿⢎⡿⣜⡳⣎⢷⡹⣞⣾⣻⣜⣳⣎⢷⣫⢞⡵⣣⢟⡵⣫⢟⣧ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢙⡻⣽⣞⣷⡾⠽⠚⠀⢁⢆⠀⠀⠁⠀⠒⠡⠔⠂⢠⣀⡐⠂⠤⠅⠂⠁⠁⠀⠀⠠⠂⡎⣿⡺⣵⢫⡵⣫⢞⡵⣫⢞⡵⣫⢳⣝⡻⣮⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢣⠐⠤⢲⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⠐⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠄⠓⠃⡇⢹⣷⡹⣎⢷⣹⣎⣷⣹⣎⠷⣭⢳⣎⢷⡹⣷⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⣱⢿ ⠀⠀⠐⢂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇⠊⡔⡇⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⢩⠁⠊⣂⡠⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⢄⢐⠥⠐⠀⠀⡁⠆⠈⣫⣷⡻⣏⢷⡹⢮⡝⡾⣿⣜⡳⣎⢷⡹⢾⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⣽⠇ ⠀⠀⢠⡀⠈⠢⡀⠀⠀⠘⡡⢂⠄⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠏⡄⠀⠀⠈⠁⠒⠀⠁⢨⢰⠰⠂⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣃⣾⢟⡼⣛⡾⣧⣛⣧⣻⣵⠿⣜⡳⣝⢮⣝⡿⣎⢷⡹⢮⣟⠎⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠸⢀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⢇⠄⡄⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⢇⡿⣸⢇⡿⣸⢻⡜⣧⡜⣿⡸⢧⡻⡼⣼⡻⣜⢧⣻⡿⠇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠠⡀⠈⠂⡀⠀⢎⢣⠡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⢡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣳⢘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⡟⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⣭⢳⡝⣶⡹⢶⡹⢧⣻⡟⣧⣻⣞⠯⠋⠁⠀⠄⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢄⠀⠐⡀⠀⠣⢆⡒⠄⣀⡀⠠⢀⡉⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢸⡹⡀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡟⣼⢣⡟⣼⢳⣞⣧⢿⡶⡽⢷⡻⣏⢷⡹⣝⢷⣧⠀⠐⠈⠠⠈⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⠀⠈⠄⠀⠑⢎⡒⢒⠒⡚⠍⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠆⣮⠕⣧⡑⢀⠀⠀⡀⠄⣈⣿⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⡳⣎⢿⣎⢷⡹⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⢧⢿⣇⠀⠄⢁⠠⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠢⠀⠘⡄⠀⠀⠑⠨⣢⠑⡸⢈⠳⢬⣁⣒⣒⣂⣡⠞⣥⠛⡴⡹⣒⢖⡲⢴⣋⢧⢻⣷⡹⣎⠷⣭⢳⡝⣾⡟⣮⡽⣧⣻⡜⣧⢻⡜⡯⢾⣻⠀⠐⡀⠄⠂ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠂⢍⣚⠤⢃⠎⡴⣉⠶⡙⣤⠛⡴⢣⢍⡲⢩⠖⠱⠚⠁⠙⣷⣭⢻⡜⣧⣻⢟⣼⣹⡽⢮⡝⣿⣜⢧⡻⣭⢿⡏⠀⠐⡀⠄⠂ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡀⠀⢡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠚⠐⠑⠊⠑⠂⠛⠐⠋⠂⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠿⣾⣟⡽⣚⠶⣭⢻⠷⣽⣮⣽⢷⣻⠝⠃⠀⠠⠁⡀⠐⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠁⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⣻⡿⣞⢯⡻⣜⢶⣹⡿⠀⠀⠠⠈⡀⠐⠀⡁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡁⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠁⠀⠐⠀⠀⠁⠀⡀⠀⢀⠠⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⣾⣟⡼⣹⢎⣷⣽⡾⠛⠁⢀⣴⠂⠐⡀⠁⢂⠀⡁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠈⠀⢹⣷⡹⢧⢯⡝⡷⣶⢶⡿⡿⠃⠀⠂⢀⠡⠀⠐⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠐⠀⢀⠀⠁⢀⠈⠀⠐⠈⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⣞⣿⣳⡟⠾⠋⠀⠀⠄⠡⠀⠄⠂⠁⠄

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠠⠤⡗⢢⡀⠀⢀⡀⡐⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⠔⢉⡤⠓⠉⠁⠀⢳⡄⠈⣥⠁⢣⡀⠀⡠⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⠍⠋⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣇⠁⢸⠋⠗⠁⡠⣋⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢨⠀⠂⠁⠰⢩⣶⣒⠶⠄⠈⡾⣰⡗⡄⠄⠊⡩⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⢦⣂⠈⡂⠁⠛⠋⢀⠀⠀⠸⡟⠠⢋⣀⡉⠭⡢⠤⠒⠒⠦⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠙⣾⠖⡚⢲⠈⡱⠀⠀⠀⠋⢀⠿⠊⢲⠑⠂⣐⠒⠠⡀⠀⠙⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣤⠌⡷⢈⣎⠜⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠁⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠈⢂⠀⠘⡆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠫⠦⠵⢪⡣⠂⣁⣿⠃⢀⠇⠒⡦⠀⠣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡯⠊⡡⠒⣯⠀⣶⠀⠀⠐⠂⠀⢡⠀⠀⠔⠀⡠⢃⠔⡑⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⣈⣭⡇⣢⠉⠈⢱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡀⠎⡠⠞⢊⠕⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠧⠥⡠⠇⠀⠨⠄⠀⠀⠇⢤⣈⠀⠑⠒⢒⡒⠦⠔⡦⡄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠰⡀⠸⠘

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢠⠄⠠⡾⡉⡇⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠈⠀⠀⠀⡼⢄⣈⡇⠀⠀⠱⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠳⡴⠈⠐⠀⠀⠀⢰⠣⢄⣸⠀⡀⢄⠀⢻⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⢀⠀⠘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠸⣤⣈⠢⠈⠎⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠸⡀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠰⣄⣧⣱⡱⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠣⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⢾⣯⣄⠀⠀⣿⣹⡏⢧⠀⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⠑⡄⠐⣶⡞⢻⡁⢸⣿⣿⡆⠀⢿⠿⡇⠸⢀⣧⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⡇⠄⠸⡄⠀⠘⢌⠛⢽⣛⡭⠂⠀⠈⠒⠧⡄⡾⣿⢹ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠖⠉⠁⠀⠙⠓⠒⢤⡀⠀⠀⠸⣇⠘⡄⠰⠀⠀⠀⠑⠢⠤⠔⠁⠀⠠⣉⣴⠃⠣⠄⠜ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠋⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠲⣄⢀⢱⡀⠘⠄⢣⠀⠀⠠⢄⣀⣀⣠⡤⠄⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡜⣠⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⢖⠏⠉⠉⠙⠻⡀⡈⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⢅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠐⠏⢠⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠡⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⡶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠔⢱⠻⠀⠱⡀⠀⠀⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⡼⠳⢄⣀⢠⠀⠀⡄⢀⡠⢶⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠁⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⣽⡇⠀⠘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠁⠀⠀⣼⡟⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⢀⢠⡇⠀⠀⢀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣀⠀⠀⢀⡿⠀⠀⠀⣠⣸⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢫⡢⠴⠞⠁⠀⠀⡰⠗⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠈⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠉⠂⠠⠤⠔⠊⠘⠛⢷⠄⠀⠀⠀⢹⡿⣦⣄⣠⣵⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠁⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠳⣤⢤⠤⠤⠟⠙⠒⠒⠒⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

˚˖𓍢ִ໋😎ᡣ𐭩

⠀⠀⣀⣠⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⣶⠤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⣾⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⣠⡤⠖⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠒⠦⣌⣷⠀⠙⠲⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡇⠙⠲⠖⠒⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣈⣹⣇⠀⠀⠈⢷⣄⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠤⠐⠂⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠑⢒⡾⠋⠻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠻⢯⣉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠖⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠁⠀⢀⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣍⣿⠓⠒⠒⠋⢩⡟⠁⣀⡤⠴⠒⠒⠊⠉⠉⠙⠀⠀⠀⡼⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢄⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⢠⣿⠖⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠁⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠛⣻⡆⠀⠘⠁⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⢋⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣏⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⡿⠋⠪⣿⣧⡴⠂⠀⢀⡴⠛⠁⣸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣽⣿⠁⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡤⢈⢹⠦⠤⠀⢸⠁⠀⢰⢿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⠽⠁⠀⠀⠈⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢁⡜⢸⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⣴⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠔⠒⠒⠒⠒⠲⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⠤⠤⢻⠀⠀⠘⢦⡬⠭⠤⠔⠋⡠⠊⠀⠀⠀⢹⡖⢨⡾⠁⠀⢀⡤⠶⡾⠋⣉⣁⠀⠉⠑⠢⡀⠀⠙⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠒⠒⠒⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡟⢻⣛⣷⡴⠋⠀⣰⡷⠋⢩⡟⠉⠲⣄⠀⠈⢆⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠓⠒⠒⠒⠒⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡋⠁⣿⠤⢤⣾⠋⢀⣴⡋⠀⠀⠀⠈⡆⠀⠸⡀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠸⠁⠀⣸⠃⠲⣯⠀⠹⣆⠀⠀⠀⢱⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⠧⠴⣿⠀⠀⡟⠀⡄⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠀⠀⢻⠀⣼⡥⠾⡇⠀⢀⠀⢰⠀⢠⠀⠸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠘⡀⢸⠀⠸⣧⡀⠻⣄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠋⠙⠶⢤⣤⠀⠀⠀⢰⠶⠛⠻⡄⠀⠀⠿⢦⡄⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⡇⢸⡀⠀⢹⡟⠦⠬⠟⢀⣤ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⠀⠀⠀⠸⡆⠀⠀⠹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠹⡄⠀⢹⡄⠀⡇⠀⢇⠀⠀⠻⣄⣀⠤⢚⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⢸⠆⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⠀⠀⠻⣄⠘⣄⠈⠣⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡄⠀⠀⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠙⠳⢬⣓⣤⣈⣑⣦⠶⠋⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢇⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣧⡤⠤⢼⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠳⠦⠤⠤⠴⠋⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠈⠳⠦⠤⠴⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⣄⣠⣤⡴⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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⟡🕷𓃗

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⢄⢀⣀⣄⣠⣤⣤⣤⣴⣦⣠⣐ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠉⠄⠓⠓⠏⡛⡿⢿⣻⡿⣿⣟ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣐⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠘⠻⢗⣻ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠀⠀⢶⡔⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⠁⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠠⠤⠤⠤⠴⠋⠀⠳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠁⠢⠀⠀⢀⡠⠖⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢄⣓⣁⠔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡆⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⡆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢆ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

HORSE 𓃗

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣞⣿⢏⠿⣛⣛⢫⣟⡛⣛⡛⢾⡛⠿⢯⢷⣶⣢⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⡿⢟⡛⢭⡘⣆⠮⡱⢥⢪⡑⢎⠷⣕⠮⡱⢻⡍⣖⠪⡴⣉⣛⠻⣟⣶⣄⣠⢞⣫⡳⢤⣰⢞⠍⢃⣛⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣾⠿⢯⣵⣌⣳⣘⣣⠱⢎⡲⢍⡲⢣⡙⣬⢚⡹⣎⡕⢫⣗⠬⣓⠲⡱⣌⠳⣌⡹⡾⡱⠋⠀⠈⢯⢳⠁⠌⢂⢱⢻⠀⠀⠀⣠⡖⢻⣙⠳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠠⠀⠀⢀⣼⡿⣋⠶⣙⠲⣒⢬⠣⡭⢍⡻⢖⡧⣭⡒⢧⡱⢆⠳⡌⡝⣎⢇⢿⡸⣡⠛⡔⡎⢵⢊⡼⡝⠁⠀⠌⠠⠀⢫⢳⢈⠰⢘⢺⡄⢠⡞⢥⠞⠁⠈⣧⣇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⢶⡒⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⢏⠖⣍⠲⣅⡛⡴⣊⠵⣑⠫⣔⠣⢞⡰⢋⠷⠾⣌⡳⣑⠎⡽⣎⢾⣱⢆⡿⣜⠾⠲⢻⡝⠀⠠⠁⠠⢱⡀⠈⢯⡇⠰⠸⢼⡰⢫⣐⡏⠀⠄⠁⢸⢹⠀⠀⡴⣫⠞⠁⠈⣧⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣾⡯⢗⡛⢯⣉⠟⣌⠳⣱⡉⢯⣙⢛⢳⡛⣦⢭⣝⡬⢓⣍⠳⢧⣚⣵⠿⠛⠉⠁⡀⠀⡀⠄⢺⠁⢀⠁⡀⠂⢸⡇⢀⢸⣻⠠⢙⣾⡽⢡⡾⠀⠠⠈⡀⠸⣹⢀⡾⡽⠁⠀⠄⠁⣏⡷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⣾⡟⢼⠨⡕⢦⢩⢚⡌⢧⡑⢮⡑⡎⡭⢲⢱⢊⡼⢌⡝⣳⢬⣳⡿⠋⠁⠀⠄⠂⢁⠠⠐⠀⠄⠂⡀⠂⢀⠐⠀⢸⡇⠀⡀⡿⣦⡸⣱⠃⣶⠇⠀⠂⠁⡀⢰⢹⣎⡝⠀⡀⠌⠀⢢⢷⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣼⠿⡸⢌⡳⢸⣡⣷⠿⣛⢛⣛⠻⠷⣾⣥⣣⢣⢋⡴⢋⠴⣣⡿⠋⠀⠠⠀⢁⠠⠈⢀⠀⠂⠁⡐⠠⠀⢁⠠⠀⠌⢸⠇⢀⢠⢿⡙⢿⡅⡐⢻⠀⠠⠁⠠⢀⢸⣛⡞⠀⠄⠀⠄⠈⡼⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣯⢳⢡⠏⡴⢣⡿⣑⢺⠰⡍⡆⢯⠱⣆⡽⡟⠷⣧⣎⢭⣾⠋⢀⠀⠂⢁⣐⡀⠠⠐⠀⠠⠈⠀⠄⡐⠀⠂⡀⠄⢂⡞⠠⠀⢸⣿⡘⠭⣿⡌⣏⠐⠀⠄⠁⡀⢸⡼⠀⡀⠂⢈⠀⣸⢥⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣽⠢⣍⠮⡱⣿⢣⠍⡖⣍⢲⡙⡬⢓⢦⣿⢁⣤⡌⠛⡿⠁⠀⠄⠐⣨⣿⡿⠿⣿⣶⣌⠀⠄⠁⠠⢀⠁⠂⠄⠐⡀⠠⠀⠌⣾⢇⣚⡱⢺⣷⡇⠠⠈⢀⠂⢀⢸⠃⢀⠐⠠⠀⢂⣏⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣳⠍⢦⢓⣱⣿⢌⡳⢜⡘⢦⡙⣬⠙⣼⣸⡿⠋⣿⠀⡀⠄⠈⠠⢀⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠉⠿⣷⣄⠈⠄⠀⢂⠀⠂⠐⠀⡐⠀⣼⡟⣌⠦⡱⢃⡿⡇⠀⡐⠀⡐⠀⠊⠀⠄⠂⢀⠐⡼⡼⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣯⡜⢣⢎⡒⣿⡸⢰⢋⡼⢡⠞⣤⣛⣼⣿⣶⣄⢸⡇⠀⠠⠈⠀⣼⣷⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠘⢻⣧⣀⣌⣴⠆⠁⠠⠁⠀⢾⣿⠰⢎⡜⢥⢋⡿⣗⠀⠠⠐⠀⡐⠀⠡⠀⢂⠠⣸⢳⣗⡯⠝⢭⣳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣷⣏⢲⡡⢞⢻⣕⠫⡜⢲⣉⢾⣰⣭⣿⣟⠉⠹⣆⡆⠈⠀⠄⠁⢼⣿⣿⣿⠁⠈⠙⣿⡄⠀⠹⣿⣉⣀⣀⣤⠇⠀⡁⢸⣿⢩⡚⢼⡘⣬⡗⣿⣀⣄⡂⠁⠀⠌⠐⠀⠂⢰⣣⠞⠁⠀⡀⠰⣇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡿⣄⠧⣘⠟⣿⢣⠛⣇⠸⣼⢿⠿⣸⢿⡀⠀⣿⠀⡘⠀⠠⠘⢸⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣛⣀⣠⡄⠀⢸⡟⡤⢛⡤⢛⣸⡟⣿⡜⠀⣿⡄⠃⢀⠘⠀⠃⡿⠃⠀⡀⠃⢀⢸⢣⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢻⣿⡒⡥⣚⠹⣧⡛⣤⠛⣤⢋⠶⣹⡼⣿⣶⣿⠀⠄⠈⡀⠐⠘⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⣀⣸⣿⡇⠀⡞⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀⠄⣿⢏⠲⣍⠲⡍⣾⢜⣻⠀⠠⢸⣳⠀⠠⠀⠌⡼⠁⢀⠂⢀⠐⢀⣏⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢻⣷⡱⣌⠳⣙⣷⣢⠛⣤⢋⠶⣡⢗⢿⣾⡏⠀⠂⠁⡀⠐⠀⢻⣿⣿⣍⣻⣿⣿⢹⢃⣾⡓⠾⣄⠁⠠⠁⡈⣼⡟⢬⢓⡬⢓⣼⠗⣺⢿⠀⠐⠈⣿⠀⠄⠂⠄⠀⠄⡀⠄⠂⢀⡞⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⣌⠳⣌⡜⣳⣝⢤⢋⠶⣡⣞⠾⠛⠁⠠⠈⠀⠄⠈⠠⠀⠹⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢫⣿⠘⣿⡜⠀⢀⠂⠐⣼⡟⡌⢧⠚⣔⢫⡞⣭⣿⣻⠀⡈⠀⣿⠀⡰⡾⠟⣶⡄⠀⠄⢨⠞⡜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣷⡢⡜⣡⢛⣮⡣⠞⣧⢇⠀⠤⠶⠁⢠⠁⠠⢈⠀⠄⠁⡀⠉⢉⠉⠀⡀⠼⠁⠈⠀⠄⠂⢠⣼⡟⡜⡸⢬⡙⣤⡿⡸⡼⣼⣿⠀⠄⠂⣏⣺⠋⢀⠀⢸⣽⠀⣰⢏⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣿⣼⣡⠚⣔⠻⣷⡌⢿⣢⡀⠄⢂⣼⠁⠐⠀⡐⠈⠀⠄⠐⠀⠠⠁⡀⠄⠂⣁⠌⢀⣰⣾⢋⢖⡩⢖⢣⣙⡾⣡⣽⠓⣯⢽⠀⠂⢤⡷⠁⠀⠄⠈⢸⡽⡴⣣⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣟⣧⢎⡱⢊⠿⣮⣍⠻⡽⣹⢥⣀⡌⠀⠄⠈⠄⢂⣈⣀⣡⢤⠴⠖⠋⠁⢠⣴⡟⢥⢋⣆⠓⣎⣱⢞⡱⣶⢋⢽⣿⢸⠀⡁⠘⠁⠀⠌⠀⢬⢏⣛⠼⣅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠺⣿⣼⢡⠳⣌⠻⣧⡓⣍⠮⣙⠞⣛⡛⣛⣛⢳⣾⠒⣹⢽⠀⢀⠂⣡⣾⠫⣜⢊⠶⡨⢝⣰⢏⡎⣼⢣⡍⣾⡇⡾⠀⢀⠂⢈⠠⠐⣸⡷⠋⠀⠉⣎⡇⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣶⢶⣦⣤⡤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣷⣗⢌⡣⢝⣳⡼⣌⢣⠝⣢⠝⡲⢌⣻⢿⡄⢪⢽⠀⢀⣼⡟⢥⡓⢬⢎⢣⢝⡼⣋⠖⣼⢣⠇⣜⣿⢐⡇⠈⡀⠄⠂⣠⡾⠋⠀⡀⠄⣡⢧⣇⣤⣾⠿⣛⠫⡍⢭⡒⠭⡬⢭⣙⡛⢯⣟⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣮⢜⡢⢥⢛⣮⡱⢎⡱⢎⠵⣉⢎⣿⡅⢺⢼⢀⣾⢏⡜⢦⡙⣒⢎⣱⠾⣑⠎⣽⢣⠣⢞⣼⡇⣺⠁⠀⠄⡰⠾⠓⠽⣲⡀⠄⡴⣫⣿⢟⣋⠶⣉⠶⡙⣬⢃⢞⡱⢚⡴⢢⡙⠦⡜⢬⠻⣽⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣳⡜⢦⣉⠞⣷⡍⠶⣉⢮⡑⢮⣿⡆⢸⣞⣾⠏⣎⠜⢦⡱⢃⣾⢋⠵⣊⣾⢋⠖⣍⢮⡿⠚⠁⠀⠌⢀⠠⠀⠠⢀⡟⢧⡺⣿⢟⡱⢊⢦⠓⣍⠲⡍⠦⣍⠦⣙⠲⡌⢧⠹⡜⣡⢇⢫⡔⢻⣿⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⣻⡖⡌⢞⡰⢻⡵⣉⢦⡙⢾⣳⡇⢨⣯⡏⠞⣤⠛⢦⣱⡿⡘⢎⡱⣺⢣⠍⡞⢤⣿⠃⠀⠄⠁⡀⠂⠠⣀⣥⠾⠋⠁⢉⠺⢕⣮⡟⣚⠯⣙⠯⣙⢏⡳⠾⣥⣳⢩⠖⣍⠶⡡⢎⡵⣘⢣⡜⣻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡿⢛⠫⣝⡻⡽⣶⡀⠄⠀⠸⣷⣻⢜⣘⠲⣩⢷⡩⢆⠽⣺⢿⠀⣾⣿⣉⠞⡤⢛⢆⡿⡰⣙⠬⣱⢏⡲⢩⢎⣽⠏⠀⡐⠀⠂⠴⠒⠛⠉⡀⠄⠠⠁⡀⠄⣤⡑⢟⢮⣱⣥⡚⢥⡚⠴⣉⢖⡩⢛⠾⣌⠶⣙⡒⢦⠍⡖⣬⠱⣳⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡟⡰⢋⣿⡿⡛⠝⠳⣿⡂⠀⢰⣿⢏⡷⣌⡓⢦⠹⣇⠯⣜⣿⡿⠤⢿⡷⢌⡞⣡⢏⡾⡱⣑⢎⣱⣏⠞⣰⢋⣼⡟⠀⠐⠀⠄⢁⠠⠀⠂⢁⠀⠄⠂⠐⡀⠠⢐⣿⡌⢧⢻⠚⠿⣷⢮⡓⡍⢦⡙⡎⡵⢪⠷⣵⠸⣡⠞⣱⠢⡝⢢⢿⣳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠨⣿⡧⣍⠻⣟⣇⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⢀⣾⡿⢌⣿⠰⡍⡖⢭⣻⡜⣼⡷⠂⡉⢼⣗⢣⡜⠲⣼⠳⣱⡘⠦⣿⠌⣎⡱⢮⡟⠀⠠⠁⡈⢀⠂⠄⡈⠐⠠⠈⡀⠌⠐⠀⠄⠣⠿⣼⠈⡟⡇⠀⠈⠻⣿⣜⢥⢚⡱⡜⡱⢎⠼⢷⡡⢞⡡⢳⣉⠧⣚⢿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⡰⡍⡝⢾⣳⣤⣤⣤⣶⡿⣋⢖⡩⢾⡱⢍⡜⢦⣹⣾⡟⢀⠂⣁⢺⣟⢆⠞⡱⣟⡱⢆⡹⢼⣇⢫⠔⣥⣿⢁⠂⠁⡀⠄⠀⠄⠂⢀⠁⡐⠀⠠⠀⠂⣩⡜⠇⠀⣩⡀⡗⣧⠀⠀⠀⠸⢿⣮⠲⡱⢜⡱⢪⡱⢩⢷⣣⡙⠖⣬⠲⣉⠾⣻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⣵⣊⠵⣊⠭⠭⣍⠳⣘⢬⠒⡥⣿⡘⡎⡜⣦⣿⠻⢀⠂⢌⠠⠌⣿⡘⡎⣵⡧⢣⣋⠴⡿⣌⠶⡩⢼⡏⠀⣷⠀⠠⠐⠈⡀⠂⠄⠂⠀⠄⠁⠠⠁⢋⢿⣚⢄⣼⢧⣋⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣧⢙⠦⣍⠳⡌⢇⡎⣷⢩⠞⣰⢣⠹⡜⢿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣟⣶⣭⣎⡕⡪⢕⠣⡎⡝⡰⣿⣰⡽⣾⣿⡇⡃⠌⡐⢂⡐⢺⣹⣷⢑⣺⣇⠳⣌⠳⡟⣤⠓⣍⣿⡇⠀⣿⠆⠁⠠⠁⠀⠌⠀⠌⢀⣲⠈⢀⠂⠘⠆⠀⡘⠻⡞⣸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣾⡍⠶⣌⠳⣉⠮⠴⣹⡇⣞⢡⠎⢧⡙⢾⣽⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠛⠽⠿⢫⠷⡽⠹⠿⠷⠛⠉⠉⢸⢣⠡⠘⡀⠂⢄⠹⣼⣿⣎⢼⡇⣏⠴⢫⡟⡤⢛⠤⣿⡀⢠⡿⣀⣈⣀⠄⠁⠠⢈⡰⣾⠃⠀⠄⠀⡁⢀⠂⠀⢤⣯⠭⠭⢝⡲⢤⠀⠀⠈⣷⣏⠳⡌⠧⣍⢎⠳⡔⣿⠌⣎⡹⢢⡙⢾⣭⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡹⢀⠡⠐⡉⠄⢂⠙⢞⢻⣎⣷⠸⣌⠳⣟⢬⢣⡙⣿⣇⢾⣷⢯⣽⡛⣷⡚⢋⠋⣁⠺⢆⢀⠂⠁⠠⢀⠐⠈⠸⠇⠀⠄⠂⢸⢻⢠⠀⠀⢿⣯⠓⣜⠣⣎⠜⣣⠚⣿⡘⢦⡱⢣⡙⣾⣳⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡱⢀⠊⠡⠄⡉⢄⠊⠌⡧⡿⣽⡓⡬⢓⣽⣊⢦⠹⠼⣯⣿⠛⣯⣿⣿⢼⣟⠀⡒⢀⢂⢉⠳⡀⠌⠀⠄⠠⠈⢀⠐⠈⡀⠐⢸⣹⠀⠀⠀⣼⡿⢸⢌⠳⣌⠞⣡⢋⡿⡌⠧⡜⢣⣹⢇⣳⣯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣱⠂⠌⡐⣈⠰⠀⡌⠄⣳⠁⢈⠻⣮⡣⡜⣧⢎⡕⢫⡜⢯⣷⣻⣿⢏⣺⣏⡳⠤⠧⠄⣈⠰⠙⠦⣅⠂⠐⠀⠂⡀⠂⠀⠌⡿⣹⡂⠀⠀⣿⣏⢇⡎⢳⡌⢞⡡⢞⣧⡙⢎⡱⣃⡿⣘⢾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣧⢇⠒⠠⠄⠢⠑⡠⢸⣹⠀⠂⡀⢉⠻⣶⣍⢷⣘⢣⠜⣒⠦⣙⡔⣪⡿⡝⡀⠆⠰⢈⠄⢂⠡⠒⣨⡏⠛⠋⢀⠐⡀⠁⡀⣟⡇⡅⠀⢸⣿⢇⠮⡜⢣⡜⣊⠖⣿⢢⡙⣬⠱⣾⠱⣩⣞⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 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⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢒⡌⡳⢌⢾⢗⡱⡟⡬⢣⢿⣻⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⢧⣚⠱⣊⢾⢎⠴⣏⡕⡣⢎⡝⣫⠿⣽⢶⣳⢶⡶⣟⠾⣭⠿⠟⡿⢻⢯⢷⣶⢦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣳⣍⢖⣹⣎⢚⣻⡴⣉⠶⣘⠦⣹⠰⢎⣒⢣⡜⢢⡛⢤⢋⠞⣡⠓⣎⠲⣌⠫⡝⢯⣷⣆⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠺⣟⡶⡿⣦⡱⢳⣍⠶⣡⠓⣆⡛⢬⠜⣲⣬⢷⣞⣷⠯⠿⠯⠿⠽⢷⣞⡷⣼⣢⠜⡹⣟⣦⠀ ⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠓⠿⠿⣺⣟⣶⣟⣶⣽⣚⠿⠟⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢯⣿⣕⠬⣳⢧ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣾⡇⢭⣟ ⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣶⡀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡍⣖⣯ ⠄⡀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣳⣿⣶⣶⣻⣫⣶⢯⣣🦄🦄✨✨🙇

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⣇⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⣤⣄⡤⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⣾⣿⣿⢿⣿⣄⣀⠀⣠⢴⠶⢋⠴⠋⣡⣾⠥⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡽⣿⣿⢸⡞⠁⠀⠀⡡⠲⠝⢋⡤⠞⢋⣱⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⢟⣹⣷⡟⠀⣐⡩⢒⡔⠤⠁⡠⠶⠛⣋⡷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⢻⠿⣿⡷⢊⠈⠐⢉⠤⢦⢄⠠⠴⢾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡄⠀⡈⠑⡼⠀⠀⠀⡲⠤⠤⠴⣶⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⢀⣿⠀⢸⠁⢠⠐⠣⠤⡶⠚⢉⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⣷⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡋⠉⢙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡹⣺⣷⠟⠐⠡⣂⣓⣶⣶⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢱⡀⢈⣩⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣿⣿⠫⠁⠀⠀⠀⢾⣳⣿⣿⠿⠟⠟⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⡠⠞⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠈⠻⡧⡐⣦⢄⠒⢋⠛⢺⡇⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣤⣀⠀ ⡎⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⢹⡀⢣⠸⢦⠘⣇⡀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀ ⣇⠀⣶⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠀⢀⠀⣇⠀⢃⠐⢷⡀⠑⡀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀ ⠈⠳⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠀⣧⠀⢹⠀⢸⡀⠘⣷⠀⢳⠀⠀⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⣦⢰⡟⣀⡸⢄⣼⡇⡄⡿⣷⣈⣧⣤⣤⣄⣽⣃⣀⣈⣹⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣎⣐⣫⣾⣷⣠⣤⣤⣄⣉⡑⣛⣓⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⡿⠿⠋⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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⠀⠀⣰⡟⡽⣌⢧⣹⠜⣃⠻⣌⠧⣍⢿⡧⡹⣌⣿⡻⡹⣌⢧⡙⢮⡱⣍⢎⡳⢭⢻⡷⣍⢮⡱⣍⢮⣱⣫⣧⣤⡴⣤⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣴⡟⡼⣑⢎⡶⡡⠊⠀⠘⡌⢷⡘⢾⣗⡱⣾⢏⠶⡱⢎⠶⣙⢦⠳⡜⢮⡱⣋⠶⡹⣟⡦⣳⣼⢞⡳⣋⠶⡱⢎⡵⢪⣍⢻⡹⢶⣄⡀ ⢰⡟⡼⡱⢎⡞⡠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠨⡝⣎⣷⢹⣯⢋⡞⣱⢋⡞⡱⢎⡳⣙⢦⠳⣍⢞⡱⢻⡵⢯⡱⢎⡵⣩⢞⡱⢫⡔⢧⢎⢧⡙⢮⣍⢻ ⣿⡜⣱⡙⣞⡐⠀⣰⠀⠀⠀⠀⡅⡟⡴⣹⢟⣾⠱⣎⠵⣫⢜⡱⣋⠶⣩⢎⡳⡜⢮⡱⢫⡝⢦⡙⣎⠶⡱⢎⡵⢣⢞⡱⢎⠶⣙⠶⣌⢳ ⡟⣮⡵⣙⠆⠆⠠⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠱⢃⠑⠈⣟⡷⣌⢳⡱⢎⡵⣩⢞⡱⢎⡵⣙⢦⡙⢧⡚⣥⢛⡬⢳⡙⢮⡜⣣⢎⡵⣋⠞⣥⢛⡬⢣ ⢳⣩⢛⣾⠸⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠗⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⣜⢣⡝⣎⠶⡱⢎⡵⢫⢴⣭⡶⠿⠞⠛⠻⠯⠿⢳⣟⣦⡝⢦⣋⠶⣩⠞⡴⢫⡜⣣ ⡇⣎⠳⡆⠂⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣦⡙⢦⢫⡕⣫⣜⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢷⣮⠳⣥⢛⡜⣣⠞⡥ ⡷⣌⢳⣃⢁⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢟⣧⠳⡜⣵⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠋⢿⣆⠯⡜⣥⢛⡜ ⣷⢌⡳⢼⡘⡀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠜⠀⠀⢻⣮⠕⣎⠳⣜ ⢹⣮⡱⢣⢧⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠛⣧⣛⢬⠳⡜ ⠀⠙⢷⣍⡎⢧⢂⠀⠀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⣦⡁⣿⡜⣎⠳⣍ ⠀⣠⡾⢫⡜⣣⢛⣴⣀⡙⠷⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡜⣬⠳⡜ ⣸⢏⡸⢇⡾⣁⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠏⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⣀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣶⣿⣿⠿⠏⠉⢉⣿⣿⡿⠏⢹⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡸⣆⠿⣸ ⣏⢮⡱⢫⠴⣩⢞⣿⣿⡿⢟⠀⠰⠈⢦⣤⣴⡎⠉⣽⣿⣿⠉⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢹⢹⣦⣤⣴⡏⢉⣿⠇⠀⠸⠶⠔⣿⣿⢯⡱⢎⣣⠏ ⡎⢶⡩⢇⡻⣔⢫⠼⢿⡇⠀⡀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢻⠀⢈⣿⠟⠛⠛⣿⡇⢸⢆⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⢠⠘⠀⣿⢏⠶⣙⡞⠁⠀ ⡝⢦⡙⢮⡱⢎⢧⢛⠞⣿⠀⠁⠀⠀⠠⠀⠉⠛⠛⢉⠐⢹⠀⣸⡟⠀⠀⠀⢹⣧⢸⠀⠂⢀⠉⢉⠀⠊⠀⠀⢦⠇⢠⣿⢎⡳⢯⠴⣶⢺ ⡝⢦⣋⢧⡙⣎⠮⣍⢧⣿⣷⠒⡀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠁⠀⡘⢀⡿⠁⠀⠠⠄⡀⠻⣎⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣘⠛⢢⡾⢿⣌⡳⣍⣞⣴⠟ ⣾⡱⢎⠶⡹⣌⠳⡜⣎⡆⢻⢿⣅⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣵⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠙⠷⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣽⠷⠛⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀ ⡮⣝⠻⡾⡵⢾⡟⡜⢦⡹⢆⠡⡉⠛⠓⠲⠶⠖⠒⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⢉⡩⡩⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢻⣬⢳⡱⣙⢾⡹⣜⢣⡝⣎⢳⡀⠤⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠈⠑⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢄⠔⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠙⢷⣵⢩⠞⣷⡬⢳⡜⣬⢣⡛⣦⣁⠢⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢄⠊⠔⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣾⣰⢫⢗⠾⣖⣳⢏⡞⢯⣬⡂⡌⢂⡄⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢀⣐⠨⠐⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣭⠿⣞⠳⣬⡟⡼⣘⠧⣎⠽⢿⣄⠀⠁⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠁⢰⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⣥⢛⡬⢳⠼⣟⠴⣩⠞⣬⢛⢦⡛⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢫⡷⣌⠳⣜⢣⢏⣽⡎⡵⣋⠶⣩⢖⡹⡜⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣒⠬⡩⢍⠭⣑⠒⡤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⢔⢣⠒⡬⢩⠳⣊⡜⢢⡙⢼⠢⣕⠦⠆⠦⠀⠀ ⢀⢎⠎⣆⠫⡔⢣⢓⡱⡜⡡⢎⡭⣒⣥⠋⠀⢀⠢⠀ ⢸⠸⡘⢤⠓⣌⠇⠚⠰⢝⣕⠞⠉⠀⠈⠁⠀⢨⢰⠀ ⠸⢌⠳⡌⡍⡗⠒⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡤⣲⣦⡀⠌⢘⡀ ⠈⣌⠳⡘⡌⣧⣔⣹⡆⠀⠀ ⣸⣕⣻⣿⠱⢠⠎⡇ ⠀⠈⢲⡉⢖⣹⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⠋⠀⣽⢫⢵ ⡔⡤⣪⠹⡦⢼⠉⠉⠁⠄⠀⡠⠘⠛⠉⠀⢪⡜⡜⣾ ⢇⡣⠬⣌⠼⣸⢀⠀⠈⠄⠀⠄⠀⢀⣀⠤⢭⢼⠱⡊ ⠈⠪⣱⣌⡲⠃⠀⠘⠠⠠⠄⠤⠰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⣣⡇

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⡟⢩⣏⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣽⣏⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⡉ ⡇⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣦⣦⣤⣾⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠹⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠒⠒⠶⢶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣐⣾⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀ ⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣐⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⠻⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⠁ ⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⣡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠁⠀ ⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢸⣀⣤⢄⡀⠀⠀⠠⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢸⢭⢽⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡏⢹⠻⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠏⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢸⠀⠈⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠝⠋⠀⠚⠙⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠙⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠉⠙⢻⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣦⡀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⡿⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⠀⠀⠈⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡴⢲⢢⢠⡶⣭⡿⣳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⢾⡇⠦⢥⢞⣿⣐⡿⣁⣿⢳⣤⣀⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡘⢿⢱⠈⠋⠉⠉⠙⠳⢮⢿⣟⣍⠻⣶ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠾⣕⣾⡀⢁⣽⠞⡛⡳⣄⠘⡇⣀⣸⣧⡿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡶⣶⣶⣶⡀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠶⢞⣿⣵⡎⠲⠀⢯⡶⣿⠀⣇⠛⣩⠉⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⠘⡯⣝⠋⣭⣽⣿⣢⠄⠀⣿⢣⣞⣯⡟⣥⡀⠀⠠⠁⠁⢠⣹⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡴⡋⠭⢖⡿⢽⡧⢘⣯⡙⢿⣷⠤⠭⠿⢿⣿⡾⠜⣱⢸⠒⠚⠒⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢷⡡⢾⠾⢛⣿⣟⣦⢸⡇⢠⡝⡀⠀⠀⢿⣰⣿⣼⠟⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⢳⡟⣷⡡⠷⠾⢾⣉⠀⠸⢿⠁⠿⢷⠰⠶⠿⠄⢀⠧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⣞⣨⣵⡷⢯⣼⣜⢳⡆⡴⠚⢠⣾⢳⠒⢶⠀⡾⢺⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⠻⢿⣮⡟⢻⣏⣔⠾⢃⠇⠀⡎⢘⡇⠀⢸⠀⢳⡼⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⣆⣸⣼⢾⡛⠛⠊⠀⢸⠀⠀⡇⢨⡇⠀⢸⠀⠸⢇⢳⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠘⠻⠾⠦⠓⠀⠀⢠⡇⠀⠀⡷⠶⠇⠀⠾⡀⠀⠸⡤⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ 𐙚 ‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧⊹♡‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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(\ (\ („• ֊ •„) ━O━O━━━━━━━━━ ・:。𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧「 ✉️ 」・:三 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━ https://discord.gg/mylittlepony𝜗𝜚౨ৎ𝜗𝜚౨ৎ౨ৎ🎀

I 𝓕o®🇬⚬t ♄⚬ω t⚬ 𝐬୧🅰®c♄ 𝐬†∪fƒ in ୧𝓂oj𝒾ℂo𝐌b⚬ 🅰 🇦 𝓐 ⩜ 𝛂 𝖆 𝒶 ß 🅱 🇧 В ₿ 𝑏 𝓫 © 🇨 𝐂 € ☾ 🇩 𝐃 𝒟 ძ 𝒅 𝑬 🇪 𝔼 ୧ 𝑒 🇫 𝓕 𝒥 𝓯 ƒ 🇬 ɢ 𝓖 ℊ 𝓰 Ⓗ 🇭 ℋ |-| 𝓗 ♄ ℌ 🇮𝑰 ┃ 𝒾 ﹗ 𝓣 🇯󠁄 𝐣 ʝ 🇰 𝒦 🅺 ʞ 𝒌 𝑳 🇱 ℒ ʟ | 𝓜 🇲 Ⓜ 𝐌 ᙏ 𝓂 𝐦 🇳 𝓝 Nྀི nྀི 𓎆 И 🇴 𝒐 ⚬ 𝟎 ♡ ☺ 𝓹 🇵 𝐏 ℘ 🇶 𝕢 𝓺 𝖖 ® 🇷 ℛ Ʀ 𝐫 🇸 🆂 𝓢 𝐒 𝐬 𝓼 🇹 𝓣 т ✝ ⚚ 𝓽 🇺 ∪ 𝓾 𝕦 𝖚 𝓥 𝐕 \/ Ⓥ 🅥 🇻 🇼 🆆 𝓦 ω 𝕨 ш 🇽 ✗ ﾒ 𝕏 ༝ × ㄨ 𝓍 א 🇾 𝓨 Ｙ ꪗ 𝕪 ყ 🇿 ☡ 𐰁 ᶻ 𝗓 𝐙 ᴀ ʙ ᴄ ᴅ ᴇ ғ ɢ ʜ ɪ ᴊ ᴋ ʟ ᴍ ɴ ᴏ ᴘ ǫ ʀ s ᴛ ᴜ ᴠ ᴡ x ʏ ᴢ 𝓪 𝓫 𝓬 𝓭 𝓮 𝓯 𝓰 𝓱 𝓲 𝓳 𝓴 𝓵 𝓶 𝓷 𝓸 𝓹 𝓺 𝓻 𝓼 𝓽 𝓾 𝓿 𝔀 𝔁 𝔂 𝔃 𝕒 𝕓 𝕔 𝕕 𝕖 𝕗 𝕘 𝕙 𝕚 𝕛 𝕜 𝕝 𝕞 𝕟 𝕠 𝕡 𝕢 𝕣 𝕤 𝕥 𝕦 𝕧 𝕨 𝕩 𝕪 𝕫 ᗩ ᗷ ᑕ ᗪ E ᖴ G ᕼ I ᒍ K ᒪ ᗰ ᑎ O ᑭ ᑫ ᖇ ᔕ T ᑌ ᐯ ᗯ ᙭ Y ᘔ 🇦‌ 🇧‌ 🇨‌ 🇩‌ 🇪‌ 🇫‌ 🇬‌ 🇭‌ 🇮‌ 🇯‌ 🇰‌ 🇱‌ 🇲‌ 🇳‌ 🇴‌ 🇵‌ 🇶‌ 🇷‌ 🇸‌ 🇹‌ 🇺‌ 🇻‌ 🇼‌ 🇽‌ 🇾‌ 🇿‌ 🅰 🅱 🅲 🅳 🅴 🅵 🅶 🅷 🅸 🅹 🅺 🅻 🅼 🅽 🅾 🅿 🆀 🆁 🆂 🆃 🆄 🆅 🆆 🆇 🆈 🆉 𝔞 𝔟 𝔠 𝔡 𝔢 𝔣 𝔤 𝔥 𝔦 𝔧 𝔨 𝔩 𝔪 𝔫 𝔬 𝔭 𝔮 𝔯 𝔰 𝔱 𝔲 𝔳 𝔴 𝔵 𝔶 𝔷 ᵃ ᵇ ᶜ ᵈ ᵉ ᶠ ᵍ ʰ ⁱ ʲ ᵏ ˡ ᵐ ⁿ ᵒ ᵖ ૧ ʳ ˢ ᵗ ᵘ ᵛ ʷ ˣ ʸ ᶻ

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠠⣤⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡮⢗⡬⡻⡼⣔⡤⣝⣟⡩⠗⢋⣈⠤⠼⠽⣕⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣼⠀⡏⠊⣜⡞⡵⢫⠖⠉⢀⠔⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢯⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢻⠀⢧⡂⢸⢱⢡⠏⠀⢰⠃⠀⡠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⣔⡤⠖⠚⠉⠉⠉⠘⠚⠧⣾⡄⠀⢈⠀⡜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣉⣓⠞⣄⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⠧⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣮⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠔⠊⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢦⡀⢀⣠⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠈⠙⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠉⠀⠀⣀⡄⠀⠀⠒⠒⠂⢤⡽⠋⠀⠘⣧⠀⢀⠴⠁⡠⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⢟⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠋⠀⣠⠔⠉⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⣰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣮⣅⠒⠉⠀⠀⢀⡼⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣠⣣⣟⢌⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⣠⣮⠴⠚⠊⠁⠁⠀⠉⠉⠙⠃⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⢸⢷⠈⠳⣶⢴⡞⠯⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣐⣵⡟⠁⠙⣳⡹⣞⡽⠖⣠⣼⠞⠈⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠇⠀⣸⠀⡇⠀⠈⢿⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣈⡞⠸⡀⢠⢞⠵⢦⣿⣏⢹⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⠿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠎⠀⢠⡏⠀⡇⠀⠀⢸⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢘⠀⢰⠀⡏⢛⡼⠋⣿⣿⡞⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⡀⢸⠈⠻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠏⠀⡸⠁⠀⢀⣞⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡸⡄⠈⢦⣧⢄⠀⢠⢿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⠀⠀⠙⣷⡒⠒⠀⠀⠀⢼⠁⠀⡴⠁⠀⣠⢞⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⢝⢦⡀⠻⢷⡥⠮⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡯⠃⠀⠀⢀⠌⠻⠿⣏⠀⠀⣾⡠⠊⠀⢀⣴⣳⢅⡀⠀⢀⢀⠀⣀⢤⣀⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠉⠫⣳⢮⣧⠀⠒⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢖⡈⠀⠀⠀⣴⢿⠲⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⠀⢀⡴⢫⠤⢬⡙⢮⠶⡵⡽⣷⢞⠗⠋⠉⠳⣕⠄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢈⢮⢢⢃⠮⡳⣠⠖⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡅⠘⢧⣈⣉⣡⠏⠈⣷⡈⠜⢡⠏⢠⠆⠀⠀⠘⡗⡯⣄ ⠀⠀⠘⡼⣜⠻⠥⠧⠋⣻⢦⢤⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⡳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⣽⣷⣠⠾⠒⠺⠤⣄⠀⠀⠀⡇⠈ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠘⠹⠷⠲⢿⠕⠁⠉⠁⠐⠛⠛⠋⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡉⠉⠉⠙⠛⠋⠉⠉⠛⡿⠤⣤⢤⢤⣀⠈⠓⢦⠊⢀⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⡠⣐⣒⡫⠔⠂⢉⡠⠔⢺⠀⠑⡄⠈⢫⠉⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⢦⠤⠚⠁⢀⣠⢟⣆⠀⢸⠀⢸⡀⣠ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⣠⢔⡽⢻⡘⣽⡀⢸⠀⢸⡇⠈ ⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠼⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⣊⡴⠋⠀⢸⡇⢻⠀⡸⠀⢸⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⢈⣟⣉⣉⣱⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⣬⣟⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣄⡀⠀⠀⢀⡤⡞⠉⠀⠀⠀⣴⣷⠃⢠⠃⠀⣸⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠛⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣳⠃⠀⠀⠈⠉⠢⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⡰⠁⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⢠⠇⠀⣰⠃⣀⠀

⠀⢀⣠⠤⠤⠤⣄⣀⣶⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⠋⠀⠠⠚⣀⣀⣹⡿⢦⢿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠘⢦⣀⣰⡤⢽⣋⣁⠀⢀⣼⠇⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⡏⢸⣷⢶⢶⣶⣼⢟⣦⡘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣼⠇⠘⠻⠯⠼⠋⣹⡟⠉⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠙⠺⠦⣤⣤⡆⢺⡇⢀⣤⣶⣿⢶⣦⡔⠒⠲⢤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣸⣇⠀⠙⠶⠿⢿⠷⠒⠾⣿⡟⢳⣸⠹⣇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⡏⢋⣻⣷⡄⢀⠀⠀⠣⠶⣼⣿⠇⣠⠏⠁⣸⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⡜⣿⠾⡏⢸⡇⢸⡟⢿⣷⣄⠹⣿⡀⢣⢄⣴⣿⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⠣⠀⠼⠃⣾⠃⣸⡇⢸⢿⣿⡆⣿⣇⠘⢛⣿⠟⢻⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠉⣠⣿⡇⣼⠂⣟⡎⣶⣿⠀⠈⢷⣤⣾⣤⡆ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢯⣤⣬⣽⠃⠻⠶⣟⣤⣬⡿⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⠚⠁

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡩⠬⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⡤⠤⠀⠀⠠⠤⠤⢤⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠏⠉⠑⠫⣦⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠶⠞⢋⠉⢁⠠⠀⠂⠀⢤⣤⠤⢤⣤⣤⣭⣙⠓⠢⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡖⠒⠒⠒⠲⠒⢤⠄⡀⠀⠀⣰⠏⢀⠌⡹⠀⢰⣧⡴⠛⠋⠐⠒⠚⠂⠈⠄⠂⢁⠐⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠳⠶⣄⡀⠈⠉⠁⠚⠓⠦⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣬⠃⠰⣉⠍⢒⠢⢄⢉⠘⠱⠢⡇⠀⡎⡴⢁⡴⠾⢉⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠳⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢻⠀⠀⠈⠺⢄⣲⡟⠒⠳⢦⡘⠃⠸⢊⠶⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠒⠂⠤⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢕⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡒⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⢰⠉⠒⠢⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠂⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠲⡢⢄⡀⠑⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⣄⣀⣀⡠⠄⡑⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡄⣀⠀⠀⠑⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣧⠙⠳⣄⠻⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠞⠉⠀⡀⢯⠳⡀⠀⠀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⢦⣌⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢄⠈⠐⠠⡀⠢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⠀⠈⠒⢜⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⠁⠀⠐⠀⠀⠈⢧⡑⢄⠀⣇⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⢸⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣈⡷⠀⠈⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢢⠀⠀⠈⠠⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠓⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⠎⣀⣤⢴⡆⠀⠀⠀⢠⠟⠢⡇⢸⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⢉⡿⠛⠓⠒⠒⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠸⣟⠜⠋⣹⠟⠀⠀⠀⢠⡏⠀⢠⣇⠘⡄⠀⠀⠘⡄⠀⢀⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡶⣕⢄⠀⠀⢸⡀⠙⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⢠⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⠐⣾⢨⢀⡟⠃⠓⡆⠐⣠⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⠶⠋⢷⣵⡀⢸⠛⠲⢤⡈⠻⣄⡀⠀⣆⠀⠀⢀⣴⢦⣄⡠⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⡦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣻⠀⠀⠀⠀⣡⠀⢱⣿⢸⠀⢧⣀⣀⣭⠾⠋⠀⠀⣀⣲⠴⣾⣻⠃⠀⠀⠀⢯⡆⡼⠀⣠⣴⣿⣶⡈⢿⡄⣼⡃⢠⣾⡏⢀⡾⠲⣭⠲⢤⣄⣀⡀⠈⠱⢄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡀⠀⠀⢀⢸⠀⠸⣿⢸⠀⠀⠹⡪⡉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠊⠉⠉⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣼⠁⣰⡿⠋⠙⢿⣿⣆⢿⡏⣇⡾⢋⡇⢸⠇⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠒⠂⠑ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⡇⠀⠀⢸⠸⡆⠀⣿⠇⡆⡉⠶⡁⢿⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣰⣶⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡆⠁⡿⠀⠀⣿⣹⡆⢰⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀⠘⡀⢧⠀⢹⡇⣃⢐⡏⢻⠂⢧⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣻⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢻⡏⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠄⠀⢣⠘⣆⠀⢻⣄⣾⡇⠸⡄⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢿⣢⣤⣴⠿⢿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠤⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢷⣄⣿⡆⠘⡄⠀⢿⡁⡇⠀⣧⠀⠀⡿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠆⠚⢻⣿⣤⣾⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣾⠳⡄⠸⡄⠘⣧⠘⡄⢫⠆⠀⠈⢙⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠀⡀⠀⠐⣶⢟⡿⣿⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠳⢾⣤⣘⣧⣵⡈⢫⡀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢶⡤⣄⣀⡀⣀⢀⣀⣠⠍⠀⠈⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠢⣄⡀⣴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠐⠉⠑⠲⢌⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠣⢢⠀⠀⠀⣺⠀⣯⠙⡚⠳⡀⠱⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠒⢓⣋⡭⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⡴⠓⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⢄⠙⢦⠀⣠⠟⡠⡄⠈⣧⠀⠀⢹⠀⣯⣇⠱⡄⠱⡀⠘⣆⠀⠀⢀⣤⡴⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⠤⠖⠃⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⢣⢣⡈⣗⠏⢎⠜⠁⠀⣸⠀⠀⠸⡆⢹⣹⠮⡹⡄⠘⡄⠘⢆⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠠⠀⠀⡠⢤⡑⢃⠼⣌⡥⠖⠚⠉⠉⠀⠉⠛⢳⡄⠃⣿⢱⣽⠀⠈⢆⠀⠫⣆⡀⠻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣦⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠆⢀⠑⠤⠽⣪⠞⡑⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⣸⢣⡷⣅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠩⠙⠦⣼⣳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣏⡒⠊⠹⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠜⠀⢦⠖⠀⠜⠂⠑⠩⢉⡉⠛⠒⠦⠤⣄⢀⠀⠀⢀⣿⢇⡿⡽⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣧⢈⠀⠀⠀⣠⠤⣇⠀⠃⠀⠙⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣰⠃⠀⣞⠑⠠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠂⠄⡀⠀⠈⣙⡔⡾⡼⢎⡷⣹⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡇⢣⠉⠳⣋⠀⠈⡏⠑⣇⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠐⠁⠀⡌⠻⡀⠀⠀⠁⠂⢄⡀⠀⠀⣀⣉⠼⠋⠀⣿⢋⣎⠷⣭⢛⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⢿⠸⣀⡴⠃⣓⣊⠈⣹⠑⢄⠘⣽⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠰⠁⠈⠓⠠⢀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡰⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⢸⡽⢪⡜⣳⢎⢯⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⢧⠀⢸⠄⠀⠒⠺⠄⡠⠎⠁⠀⡠⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⡏⠄⢲⢁⠂⡌⢐⠡⢒⠈⣌⡰⠔⡚⠡⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢋⠀⡂⢼⠃⢌⡇⠂⡔⠐⣂⢰⠬⡚⢁⠆⠡⡐⠡⢉⠔⣊⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢟⣿⡿⠊⢄⢂⠱⠀⢾⠡⢼⠠⠑⣨⢖⢕⠃⡐⢠⣡⠬⠒⠎⡩⢉⠂⡔⣀⠊⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠁⠀⠈⠱⣌⠂⠆⠌⡑⠠⡗⢸⠀⣃⡵⢁⠊⣰⠜⠍⠠⠌⣈⠐⠡⣈⣒⠐⠤⢈⡁⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⠀⡀⠀⠀⠑⢿⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠲⠼⣀⢢⠟⡁⠌⣀⠃⢰⡤⢺⡉⠥⠉⣙⣦⣡⠄⢣⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡿⣧⠀⢡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⢦⡘⡐⣠⣼⣫⣤⣴⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡎⠄⡃⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢀⢿⡀⠸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣤⣴⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠎⠰⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠣⠈⠜⣇⠀⠑⡀⠀⣠⣤⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⡯⣐⠡⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡎⢡⠈⠜⣆⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⡾⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⢇⠉⢗⡸⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣵⢀⣊⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⢏⠞⠀⠈⢛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠟⠛⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⢿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠘⠋⠹⡟⠫⠕⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢚⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢁⠢⡘⢧⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠒⠂⢠⡿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢫⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠘⡠⠐⠌⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠠⠤⠴⡲⡝⢠⠘⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠩⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣝⢄⠳⡠⢁⠊⠄⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣔⠮⡊⠔⡡⣸⠡⢙⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⡿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⢣⡙⢆⡈⠤⠁⠜⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠤⠤⠤⠖⠒⢺⠛⠩⠐⣀⠒⠠⣱⠣⠑⣠⣞⠟⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠱⣌⠱⣆⠉⡄⠡⠘⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣇⢃⠡⠄⠌⢢⣧⠶⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⢀⣴⣽⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⢈⠲⡈⠳⣌⠤⢉⠰⠈⠷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣢⠼⠚⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣮⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠐⡑⢆⠄⠳⣌⠢⡁⠆⡉⠷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢤⣦⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⢦⢀⠉⠳⡐⢠⠓⣔⢂⠰⢀⠉⠷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⢤⡤⢶⣮⣿⣿⣿⢿⣡⣦⣀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠘⢝⡈⢧⡈⠤⠙⣢⡒⢈⠳⣔⠈⠤⠑⡘⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢛⡆⣸⢿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⠈⠆⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡃⠀⢇⠀⠻⣄⠥⢀⡑⣆⠂⠌⡳⣂⠡⠐⣈⠳⣴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡸⡘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢈⠐⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡴⡀⠘⡄⣰⠟⢦⡂⡔⢈⢮⠐⡄⡙⣆⠥⢀⠡⠹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢇⢇⢂⠙⠻⠿⠿⢋⠐⡀⢺⣽⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡵⢠⡟⠁⠀⠀⠳⣌⠂⢂⢳⠠⠁⠌⢧⠊⠰⠁⢻⡆⠀⠀⠀⠈⢼⠸⡌⠂⠡⠘⠠⠃⣢⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

╶⃝⃤╶⃝⃤Therian╶⃝⃤⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺-⃝⃤.°˖⋆ ℧ 𓃗 .°˖⋆

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˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚

“𓃗🐎🐴🦄🏇” cute horses pony lovely unicorns

𓃭 𓂀 𓁼 𓃗 𓇡 𓊑

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY v (Autistic author) The room falls into a tense silence, the air thick with the unspoken words of regret and uncertainty. Plankton's humming becomes the only sound in the room. Sandy's eyes are glued to Plankton, watching his hands move in a mesmerizing pattern. His humming grows slightly louder, filling the space around them with a comforting buzz. Despite the simplicity of the act, it's a powerful declaration of his new reality. "Plankton are you ok?" Sandy asks him. Plankton's humming stops abruptly, his gaze snaps to her. "Book," he says with longing. "Want book." Sandy nods, her eyes glistening with newfound understanding. "Of course," she says, standing up. She and Karen move to the shelf where she had placed the book earlier. Karen reaches up, her hand carefully retrieving it. "Here," she says, her voice calm, handing the science book to him. He opens it, his gaze immediately drawn to the index table in the back. His eye scans the rows, his brain finding comfort in the predictability of the page numbers. He starts to read the index aloud, his voice a monotone that fills the room with a strange rhythm. "Quantum Mechanics... 134," he reads, his finger tracing the line. "Relativity, Special and General... 212." Karen and Sandy listen, their expressions a mix of wonder and concern. They've never seen Plankton so engrossed in anything other than his own schemes before. Sandy's gaze follows the movement of his finger as it traces the numbers, her mind trying to grasp the significance of his actions. "Why does he read the index like that?" she whispers to Karen. Karen's smile is filled with both love and pride. "It's his way of finding order," she concurs. "The numbers, the patterns, it brings him comfort." Sandy nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton. His focus on the book is intense, his voice a steady rhythm as he reads off the page numbers. "Biology... 37. Chemistry... 101," he drones. Karen sits beside him, her hand on his back, providing the gentle pressure he craves. The sound of his voice, the comfort of the book's familiar weight, it's all part of his new routine. Sandy sits opposite, her paws clasped in her lap, watching intently. Her gaze flickers from Plankton to Karen and back again. She's learning, trying to understand. Plankton's voice rises in excitement as he reaches the physics section. "Quantum Entanglement... 543!" he exclaims, his hands flapping. His eye lit up, a rare smile spreading across his face. Karen's smiles. This was the Plankton she knew, the one who found delight in the complexity of the universe. He reads on, his voice picking up speed. "String Theory... 621! Gravity Waves... 784!" His stimming becomes more animated, his hands fluttering like the wings of a butterfly, each flap a silent declaration of his newfound obsession with order. Sandy's curiosity is piqued, but she's careful not to interrupt, instead watching him with a newfound respect. Karen smiles, her hand still on his back, feeling the warmth of his excitement through her metal shell. "Plankton, why do you like the index so much?" Sandy asks, keeping her voice soft, when the doorbell rings. Karen's head snaps up, the interrupted moment forgotten. "I'll get it," she says, standing quickly. SpongeBob's face appears in the doorway. "Hi, Karen!" he says, his voice bright and cheerful. "Hi, Sandy!" Sandy's eyes dart to the closed bedroom door, then back to Karen. "I should go," she says, standing up. "Let you guys have some space." Karen nods, her gaze following Sandy's. "Thank you," she whispers. "Bye Sandy. Sponge Bob, come on in; Plankton's in the bedroom.." SpongeBob's now going in, his eyes wide with excitement. "What's up, Plankton?" he says, his voice a bubbly burst of enthusiasm. Plankton's head snaps up, his eye wide. "SpongeBob," he says, his voice excitedly affectionate. Sponge Bob's eyes widen at the sight of Plankton's intense focus on the book. "Wow, Plankton, you're really into that, huh?" Plankton's hands stop moving, his gaze shifting from the index to Sponge Bob's smiling face. "Sponge Bob," he says, his voice filled with glee. He jumps up from the bed, the book forgotten as he rushes to embrace his friend. Sponge Bob stumbles backward, surprise etched on his features as Plankton's arms wrap around his waist. "Whoa, buddy," he says, his eyes wide. "What's gotten into you?" Plankton's grip tightens, his body vibrating with joy. "Sponge Bob," he repeats, his voice a high-pitched squeak. Sponge Bob's smile falters, his hands awkwardly patting Plankton's back. "It's ok, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "I'm just here to visit." Plankton pulls away, his eye shining with joy with a warmth Sponge Bob isn't used to seeing from him. "Come, sit," he says, his voice eager. He pats the spot on the bed next to him. Sponge Bob's expression is a mix of happiness and concern. Sponge Bob sits down, his body tense. "Plankton, you ok?" he asks, his eyes searching Plankton's. Plankton nods, his hands still flapping in excitement. "Good," he says, his voice monotone yet earnest.

🌈ʀᴀɪɴʙᴏᴡ ᴜɴɪᴄᴏʀɴ🦄

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON v (Autistic author) (see notes below) * ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ Karen's eyes blazed with fury as she stared at her. "How dare you speak to him like that!" Karen's voice was low and dangerous, her body tense. "How dare you come into my home and say such things!" Hanna took a step back, overwhelmed by the fury in Karen's voice. "I didn't mean..." she began, but Karen cut her off. "You don't get to decide what he needs!" Karen's words were like shrapnel, sharp and biting. "You don't get to judge him!" Her eyes were on fire, her body quivering with the effort of holding back her emotions. Hanna looked at Karen, shocked by the sudden change in her demeanor. "Karen, I'm sorry, I didn't know..." But Karen was beyond words. Her eyes were like twin lasers, cutting through the tension in the room as she stormed towards Hanna. "Get out," she spat, her voice cold and final. Hanna's eyes widened in instinctive fear. She had never seen Karen like this— so angry, so protective. "Get out," Karen repeated, each word a whip crack that sent a shiver down Hanna's spine. Her gaze never left Plankton, whose sobs had become softer, more desolate. Hanna looked between the distraught Plankton and the fuming Karen, realizing the gravity of her mistake. She quickly gathered herself. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice genuine. "I never meant to..." But Karen's anger was a force of nature, unyielding and fierce. She stood between Hanna and Plankton, her body a barricade against further harm. "Get out," she repeated, her voice now a hiss. "Now." Hanna nodded, defeated. She had overstepped a line she didn't even know existed. With a final, apologetic look at Plankton, she turned and left the Chum Bucket, the door slamming behind her. The room was silent except for Plankton's muffled sobs. Karen rushed to his side, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice soothing as she stroked his back. "It's okay, Plankton. I'm here." But Plankton's thoughts were a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty, Hanna's threat echoing in his mind. An institution? Would Karen really send him away? He pulled away from Karen's embrace, his eye swollen with tears. "Is it true?" he stammered, his voice a choked whisper. "Should you...could you really do that to me?" Karen's grip tightened around him, breaking at the thought of his fear. "Never," she said firmly, her voice steady despite the emotion threatening to overwhelm her. "I would never send you away." Plankton's gaze flitted to hers, his eye searching for the truth in her words. "But what if I'm too much?" he whispered, his voice shaking. "What if I can't get better?" Karen's eyes filled with tears, but her voice remained steady. "You're not too much," she said, stroking his arm. "You're my husband, and I love you no matter what." Plankton's sobs subsided slightly, his mind racing to understand her words. He knew love. "But what if... what if I can't be normal?" he managed to ask, his voice breaking. Karen's gaze was steady, her love for him unwavering. "Plankton, you don't have to be 'normal' to be loved," she said gently. "You're already perfect to me." Plankton's expression remained uncertain, the threat of Hanna's words still lingering like a bad taste in his mouth. "But what if... what if I can't?" Karen's grip tightened, her love a steel band around his quaking form. "You don't have to be anything but you," she murmured, her voice a balm to his soul. "I'll always love you, Plankton." With trembling hands, she offered him the smoothie she'd got, the soothing blue color a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling within them both. "Here," she said gently. "This might help." Plankton took it, his grip precise despite his shaking. He brought the cup to his lips, his gaze never leaving Karen's. The cold liquid slid down his throat, easing the tension ever so slightly. He took another sip, the smoothie's cool embrace soothing his frayed nerves. Karen watched him drink. "We'll get through this," she said firmly. "We'll find a way." Plankton took another sip, his eye flickering between hope and fear. "But what if..." Karen's tentacle gently lifted his chin, forcing his gaze to meet hers. "No 'buts'," she said firmly. "We have each other, and that's all that matters." Plankton took another shaky sip of his smoothie, the blue liquid swirling like the tumultuous thoughts in his head. He felt a tiny spark of comfort at her words. "We'll find a way," Karen repeated, her voice a gentle caress against his fears. She guided him back to the couch, her tentacles never leaving his side. As he took another sip of the smoothie, the coolness seemed to calm him slightly. His sobs grew quieter, his breathing a little steadier. The taste of berries was a sweet contrast to the bitter tang of his thoughts. Karen watched him carefully, her own emotions a swirling storm of concern and love. Gently, she guided him back to the couch, her touch a silent promise of support. He allowed her to lead him, his body exhausted from the intensity of his outburst. Once he was comfortably settled, she took the smoothie from his hand, setting it on the table. She covered him with a soft blanket, the material brushing against his sensitive skin. He flinched slightly, but the comfort outweighed the discomfort. "Rest," she whispered, stroking his forehead gently. "Everything will be okay." **NOTEs As an autistic writer (and I used AI to help me with the words) I do not encourage the ableism people have shown in their ignorance. Depending on when and where you live, some people have thought such therapies might be good, without actually accepting nor helping. Even Hans Asperger has supported eugenics during the war, sending people to internment camps leading to demise. I came across the site autismmemorial.wordpress.com if you'd like to educate yourself about how people have endured such.*

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