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28 lines
1.2 KiB
Plaintext
28 lines
1.2 KiB
Plaintext
One day, at the crack of dawn,
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A dancer whose sword was her song set foot in Mondstadt.
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Though clad in chains with cuffed hands and fettered feet,
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In her silence lay a song:
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It was the song of freedom. A song of a brighter dawn beyond the walls,
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A joyous ballad sung without reservation by a people unrestrained.
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She was the dawnlight of the Wanderer's Troupe,
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But she spelled eternal midnight for the Aristocracy.
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I once asked her, "Why do you come to overthrow our aristocrats?"
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"Do you not know that they are the first among us?"
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"Wherefore do you place their lives on a pedestal?"
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Came her voice, like a fresh breeze,
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"If you claim to know the wind as your companion,"
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"Then did you not once know freedom, too?"
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To her lonesome listeners she told a tale:
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A tale of our rulers' better ancestors who held divine power,
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A tale of angels, gods and vile dragons,
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A tale of the deities and peoples of all the land.
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Each myth and legend she turned to song,
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And the wind carried the song to all corners of the land.
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In the aristocrats' arena, her sword sang once more:
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Her final masterpiece, but it stopped short of perfection.
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A nameless knight retrieved her sword from the blood-soaked battlefield,
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And buried it where the gentle winds meet in communion. |