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6/28/2025, 7:38:43 AM
"Good evening."
A clear voice, like a bell made of sugarglass. Altogether of a different quality than the martial clarity of Lancer's call, sweetly ringing without volume, and sounding quite pleased with itself. Its owner has just received a pleasing surprise, the voice suggests, like an unexpected gift from a miserly friend. The pleasant sound is incongruous in the dingy, shadowed park. Your ragged body doesn't want to acknowledge that anyone could be in such a good mood right now.
Ahead of you is a beautiful face you recognize, and a beautiful face you don't. One new, one sprouted from the dream that wasn't a dream. You wonder if the shock of being stabbed has had a delayed effect, and together with the blood loss is making you hallucinate. It's the new face, the fairy-like girl, who's greeted you as though you're meeting at a well-mannered cocktail party. The elf-like woman by her side keeps silent, just looking at you with an enigmatic smile.
"Say, mister, you'll die if you go on like that."
The girl observes it with a friendly, detached concern, as if warning you that the string is coming loose on one of the buttons on your jacket, and it's about to fall off. You look down at your blood-soaked cloak, clinging wetly to your chest and growing more sodden every time you feel your heart beat. There are spots of blood like lost change dripping onto the ground by your feet. Even those are being stained.
"I'm sure you're right," you answer without emotion. The voice seems to come from far away, as if it's someone else speaking. In fact, you're beginning to suspect you might die right now. You take one last look at the strange girl and the familiar woman, as the black at the edges of your vision creeps ever inward.
The gravel comes rushing up at you.
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The harvest moon is half-covered in silt.
The waves that cover it surround you also. Immersed in the same water it is immeasurably beyond you, illuminating its environs while you remain shrouded in darkness. Yet the water is the same.
It calls to you in three voices, melodious and sweet, inviting you to shake off your lassitude, to strain your muscles and cut through the waves, that you two may savor the light.
The golden moon sings in praise of its own beauty, calling all to marvel at its splendor, unequalled in all the world. Calling you to cut through the waves, that you may draw near and hear its voice clearly. Even now the water that separates you muffles it, both distance and obstacle.
Light and song call all the world to admiration, but to you alone this perfect orb calls, 'embrace me'.
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A clear voice, like a bell made of sugarglass. Altogether of a different quality than the martial clarity of Lancer's call, sweetly ringing without volume, and sounding quite pleased with itself. Its owner has just received a pleasing surprise, the voice suggests, like an unexpected gift from a miserly friend. The pleasant sound is incongruous in the dingy, shadowed park. Your ragged body doesn't want to acknowledge that anyone could be in such a good mood right now.
Ahead of you is a beautiful face you recognize, and a beautiful face you don't. One new, one sprouted from the dream that wasn't a dream. You wonder if the shock of being stabbed has had a delayed effect, and together with the blood loss is making you hallucinate. It's the new face, the fairy-like girl, who's greeted you as though you're meeting at a well-mannered cocktail party. The elf-like woman by her side keeps silent, just looking at you with an enigmatic smile.
"Say, mister, you'll die if you go on like that."
The girl observes it with a friendly, detached concern, as if warning you that the string is coming loose on one of the buttons on your jacket, and it's about to fall off. You look down at your blood-soaked cloak, clinging wetly to your chest and growing more sodden every time you feel your heart beat. There are spots of blood like lost change dripping onto the ground by your feet. Even those are being stained.
"I'm sure you're right," you answer without emotion. The voice seems to come from far away, as if it's someone else speaking. In fact, you're beginning to suspect you might die right now. You take one last look at the strange girl and the familiar woman, as the black at the edges of your vision creeps ever inward.
The gravel comes rushing up at you.
<> <> <>
The harvest moon is half-covered in silt.
The waves that cover it surround you also. Immersed in the same water it is immeasurably beyond you, illuminating its environs while you remain shrouded in darkness. Yet the water is the same.
It calls to you in three voices, melodious and sweet, inviting you to shake off your lassitude, to strain your muscles and cut through the waves, that you two may savor the light.
The golden moon sings in praise of its own beauty, calling all to marvel at its splendor, unequalled in all the world. Calling you to cut through the waves, that you may draw near and hear its voice clearly. Even now the water that separates you muffles it, both distance and obstacle.
Light and song call all the world to admiration, but to you alone this perfect orb calls, 'embrace me'.
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