“Too fast… too loud… too sharp. These were written for people who rush ahead.”
She turns the page again, slower this time. Her fingers stop over a symbol—"Mist" “…Stances of Stinky Pond Mist…”
She pauses. Her eyes soften behind her mask, a flicker of emotion hidden beneath stillness. “They really wrote a sword art… for someone like me.”
She closes the book gently and rests her palm on its cover, thoughtful.
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