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... ue feeling.
Like stepping into the bosom of madness.
The swirling fog was not filled with voices and eerie whispers, neither was it like a shattered mirror that caught unlucky souls in its grotesque abyss.
No, it was nothing like that.
There was no desolation.
There was no despair.
It was a subtle itch in the mind.
Like the buzzing of an ever present, nearly immortal fly.
The host of madness itself.
With a single roar, Aster ...
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