The Faded Ruin
You stand at the edge of the glass. It is high. Too high. The wind pulls at your coat. It is thin. It does not hold. You do not care. You are a blade. You are the last sharp thing left in this city. Below, the streets are gray. The people are gray. They move in lines. They do not look up. They do not look at you. You are invisible. You are the ghost in the machine. You have been a ghost for ten...
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