[Bluebird]

there is a chill within the very souls of those who may have picked up one of those fliers sent by fauste.
like a shadow briefly touching upon their heart, momentarily stopping it, but forever infusing them with the sensation of
a p a t h y.

there is no response.
but it's hard to not feel those eyes,
watching

waiting

deciphering

the why.

time is ticking for you, isn't it, fauste?