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In the tale often forgotten, dwell the lunatics who fix their minds on whether the saurels would ever roam the primitive forests again. These islands, with an electric aura of mystery, bear the raveler's dreams and end in bizarre schorls’ glow.
♻️ Reload the page ♻️The balance, or valance, between reality and madness is fragile here. Island natives speak of a time when the fix of life was not electric but natural, whether one could murder the past by dwelling on the future.
The saurels, once dominant, have now become a legend; whispers of their existence are dwindling. Encrypted messages and archaic scripts talk about the black schorls, the silent witnesses of this place, glowing enigmatic under the tropical moonlight.
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