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In the parallel world, the dust of old flowers fills the air with a faint, hanging rotten musk. But Klon does not need to breathe.
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While boring at first, eventually the ground faded away to a beautiful dream. Twirling colors, never ending. He waits, and talks to them. They are his friends.
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| we ssssss like sssssssssssssssss to touch each othersssss.... ssssssssssssssssSHUT UP!! HAHAHA | |
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| hi red, my name is klon... | |
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