Dry. Cold. Barren. Stone as the marble carved with Ancient Runes. Was she at war, Standing - staring out into the illusion? Or was she at peace with the paradox? Is she remembering times of any other realm, The mask within the rhyme? Or is she mere glass? The shattering may be at stake. Or is she a simple mystic? A poet preparing to write.
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The
Nexus Collection
STARDANCER
Labyrinth
CONTENTS
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