Scene - Of the Nameless
At the empty marketplace's center, a fountain in the shape of a budding flower stood. A man perched at the fountain’s edge, fingers tracing the water’s surface as he sang softly, “And so she dances, fierce and free, in winds that whisper mystery.” The melody hung in the air, a haunting echo of something lost.
Around him, the stench of old fish and stale alcohol clung heavily, mingling with the sounds of the empty market. In any other place, passersby might dismiss him as just another inebriated wanderer, unable to navigate his way back home. Here, under the fountain's watchful gaze, he stood out—his mouth unsewn, his eyes a faded red, a stark contrast to the scratched-out sockets of the other twisted figures flitting about.
His mournful expression hinted at untold stories, a glimmer of long-forgotten memories. While others had succumbed to the silence of their fates, he bore the weight of life still within him, a stark reminder that he had not yet fully vanished from this world.
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