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autumnal winds dancing around him like children. I knew
            that his proffered smile, though well-shaded from view, was
            sincere—a friendly greeting, as well as a sign for our mutual
            understanding that we should leave each other to their own
            dreams. I stepped backwards into the enfolding shadows of
            my father’s gallery, surrounded by a lifetime of art, offering
            up my own smile, perhaps more recessed in darkness than
            his own, though equally noticed and understood. We nodded
            to one another just before piloting our respective  visions
            beyond the shared space of the Red Dream. Due to our
            standing as finalists in the Shepherd’s Game, our awareness
            of the other was unbothered by competing dreams—no more
            Wolves to interfere with the clarity of our shared wavelength.
            We were in no need of a dream to prepare for one another.
            We were plain as two sunny days, histories like well-read
            books, opened to the sun and recorded in plainest print. We
            knew who we were dealing with. We would be ready.
               While I am no pessimist, this fact did not stop me from
            trying to wring as much wonder as possible from my
            surroundings and  the  dreams  they  inspired,  as one never
            knows  when they will be asked to leave the world—or
            ushered out of it by persons wearing Halloween masks. I
            had no plans to depart any time soon, but it never hurt to
            have a bag packed, just in case. So, I spared no sight my
            fascination, and no fascination its fuller realization within
            dreams.  The Deadworld never seemed  rifer with hidden
            wonder  than  the  day  I  let  fall  those  lists.  My  fascination
            came to a head on my fourth day on the road, when the black
            path veered close to a strange cemetery.
               It  was  a  forgotten  place,  likely  due  to  its  proximity  to
            nearby Obscuruum, of which there were many. It wasn’t a
            particularly large plot, but more grandiose than one would
            expect abandoned to the wilds. Something was amiss with
            the  place,  something  altogether  enthralling.  The  mystery
            that wafted from beyond, or perhaps beneath the tombstones
            was nearly palpable, and would need to be to derail me from
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