Inside a bar in Achan, a masked man stands. He sits in the corner, while everyone who was once talking then stops. During this short pause the makes man withdraw a lyre. He runs his fingers across it and the sadness seems to partially fade. From behind his black mask, words are spoken.
This virus spreads through me, draining - consuming.
I try to defeat it, regain my control.
What am I proving?
Time is taking it's toll.
In my path I leave pain,
leech off who I love.
Will I see them again?
Man, that'd be tough.
I look at all of you,
I know you don't know.
The things you won't do,
Oh, where you won't go.
That's why I sit here,
I beg thee consort.
There's nothing to fear,
For I will retort.
I will answer your questions,
However strange they may be.
You could learn the inentions
They don't want you to see.
A man standing near the bar leans towards a fellow patron and says,
"Was that a *CENSORED* lyre?"