Moe Happenstance

These days, the sun is dimmer. The air seems thicker in your lungs, and the dirt feels dryer to your fingers. You are waiting. The taste of iron lingers on your tongue. Strange symbols are depicted on these tunnel walls in dripping orange paint. The cement is splotched with faded stains. You carry on. The sound of your footsteps echo into the darkness. As the tunnel narrows, and the lights fade, you are becoming worried. You turn around and standing before you-
These days, the sun is dimmer.

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