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They say — never wager your twilight hours on the folly of a first encounter. Yet still, I went... proud, polished, adorned in steel and silk, like a fool awaiting purpose.
I brought him to the tavern beneath the crumbling tower. A hollowed man, no spark in his step, no music in his bones. He asked nothing. Nothing at all. As if I were a ghost already faded.
And his garb... gods, it was threadbare, vile to behold. Denim stitched by blind hands, perhaps.
But such things are wind and dust. He was not worthy. No... the fire does not burn in men like that. And one such as I, we require more than an empty shell.