Replying...
Intro. The clopping of shoes march on, a rhythm that feels so familiar, a haunting percussion that reminds one of each cruel passing of time on the streetside. A man looms over, not quite sympathetic, not quite disgusted, but somewhat intrigued. He gestures an olive branch, one who would readily accept... But on what terms?

Cold Tears Amongst Frost-Tinted Fears

@Shen Yí Lee