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Dear old friend, our magical lives are synced. I leave smoke behind, everywhere I go, I leave smoke behind. And you are the last remains of a land before it became sin. How it transformed from the sacred unyielding earth of a content desert to a craving demon with red wings, we do not want to know. Only what matters is you and me are synced carrying the last bits of a world no one wants anymore.


Vaishali Paliwal