7.80
(21 votes)
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A swirling trace,
Can crack the case.
Read the wall,
Where a finger may fall.
Uniquely designed,
The crook it will find
Was in the end betrayed,
A print to end the masquerade.
In the trade of sleight of hand,
Is it not ironicly grand,
That the hand's fingers,
Leave a trace that long lingers.
------ When the winds of the west blow, it is called Farror, for he is the god of all wind.
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