This story begins like any other.
On a stormy night or picturesque day with aged tales of splendor and loss. In any form, it is simple in shape and complex in the deepest sense.
So how to begin? For this, there is no real beginning - just a time when it wasn't and a time when it was. Introductions were never necessary, memories always there.
You can't choose one point and start forwards because the rest of the story would be lost.
It simply begins like any other, with a word and an unspoken, unwritten promise of excitement.
( :DDD )
( :DDD )
( :DDD )
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