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«It’s something like dreaming» (A voice whose memory is lost, perhaps) «Hi», says her voice. Her voice! He has never heard her voice, that’s sure, however he recalls, he knows, and before turning around he knows to whom the voice belongs. So he fears...

«I do not wish to fight anymore…» (Disembodied voice heard while writing) so many memories from the stairs he heard the music from his room came the sound to the room he ran and looked inside nobody there but record player playing so many years before...

… the following night he saw her again … she seemed more aloof, however … she almost did not look at him … when he left, she left, too … an hint to hope, perhaps … but he did not see where she went … the following morning her face was but a vague remembrance...

… when the rain begins to fall, he knows he will never see her again … she has gone away, most likely … and so it is … once she did stare at him for a long instant with a desperate sad look … then he did not see her again … sometimes along the way he...

… she begets the water which fills the dry basin … stone becomes flesh and waving flesh begets clear fluid gushing like fountain water … brushing the flesh flower to beget water which changes stone into flesh … stone made flesh … wet flesh flowers trembling...

… and then he saw there, sitting at a wooden table, the unknown dark heroine of the tale, a girl with long, dark hair, as dark blue clad as he was, her face reminding Charlotte’s face. A cheerful girl, smiling and sucking a white popsicle. Beside her...

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