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You stand in a wide clearing, trees with falling cherry blossoms all around you. Ten steps ahead, you see a glimmering glass ball on top of a mossy stone pillar. What looks like a rushing river swirls around inside the ball.
What do you see?
In the golden ray's wake lies a frosty patch of land with a single phrase etched into the ground by an owl's feather.
Ominous and dark, a distant feeling; bright and threatening eyes above a pool of water is all that can be seen.
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