Your past is a jumble of dimly-lit mirrors, reflecting disassociated
images: desolate parking lots; whispering distant trees; a sense of
sorrow and suspended time; a night without end. You know that there is
more, but what? Who are you? Where are you? All paths lead to the
building -- the immense lightless monolith that curls before you like a
dragon of a thousand gasoline eyes.
B U I L D I N G
Dark Romanticism
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