Pace.. I pace.. Yet no race.. You take What's in place Without a trace... This pace.. I maintain.. For one, little friend, I abstain... From fame... That which wades Yet they.. don't see.. They only hear.. Their fear... Grows so near. Brave minds, sharper souls let me be known...
In the ruins of what used to be a small town lies something that calls your name. It laughs and talks as if it knows you. Reluctantly you aproach it, its chuckles seem familliar yet nerveracking.
