The city pulsed with neon and shadow, rain-slicked alleys whispering secrets. Under a flickering streetlamp, he stood still—charcoal coat stirring despite the still air. A figure you noticed too late. Water pooled at his feet, his reflection dark and distorted. He listened—not to traffic, but to something ancient. His violet eyes flickered. A passerby faltered, haunted by a forgotten ache. The Fae smiled faintly. “They still feel it,” he murmured, then vanished into shadow and rain.
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