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Echoes: A Memory Thief's Vault
**Chapter One: Shadows of the Past**
The bussling city of Lysandria hummed with the echoes of people and machine alike. In the heart of its tangled streets, I exist as a ghost among the living. They call me a thief, but my real name, the one I had lost long ago, is a distant memory in and of itself. In this world, a world where memories mean great importance, people safeguarded their most precious secrets in the fragile vaults of their minds; I was both a legend and a nightmare in this human realm of existence.
My life has been a web of secrets woven tighter with each stolen memory I aquire. Some of these were warm and inviting, others were painted with hues of neutral. With a touch, I could sift through a person's mind; cherry-picking their memory and taking what I want without leaving a trace. Some of these memories I sold in exchange for goods and services, others I hoarded like a dragon guarding its treasure, but there was one rule I adhered to strictly—I was to never take memories of any dark hue.
It was a rainy night when I found myself standing before the grand Lysandria Museum, its marble façade glistened with the tears of rain. The city's elite had gathered for a gala, and I had slipped in unnoticed, shrouded by their shadows. My target for the evening was Lord Reginald Hawthorne, a man with a penchant for acquiring rare, exotic things.
With a mask concealing my identity, I moved through the opulent halls, my gloved fingers brushing against silk-clad shoulders as I navigated the sea of partygoers. There, amidst the glint of jewels and the swirl of ornate gowns, I spotted him - Lord Hawthorne. His memories were my ticket to wealth beyond imagination.
As I approached him, the room seemed to slow, each heartbeat echoing in my ears. With a delicate brush of my shoulder, I reached into his mind, searching for the memories that would fetch the highest price. I delved deeper into his consciousness, and a chill shot down my spine; I had found something ominous. A memory unlike any I had encountered before—a dark, swirling abyss, of malevolent force that threatened to consume everything in it's wake - like a virus to a computer.
I tried to pull away, to sever the connection, but it clung to me like a shadow. My heart raced as I realized the truth—I had unwittingly stolen a memory of unspeakable horror, one that held the key to Lord Hawthorne's darkest secret.
Panic surged through me, as I swore I didn't go that deep into his being. Immediately fleeing the gala, my mind was now filling with images and emotions that were not my own. I needed to find answers, to uncover the mystery behind this memory, and to confront the demons of my past that it had now awakened.
Little did I know that this stolen memory would set in motion a chain of events that would unravel the very fabric of the world I thought I knew, forcing me to confront not only Lord Hawthorne's dark secret but the shadows of my own past that I had long tried to forget.
© Quiet Winter
The bussling city of Lysandria hummed with the echoes of people and machine alike. In the heart of its tangled streets, I exist as a ghost among the living. They call me a thief, but my real name, the one I had lost long ago, is a distant memory in and of itself. In this world, a world where memories mean great importance, people safeguarded their most precious secrets in the fragile vaults of their minds; I was both a legend and a nightmare in this human realm of existence.
My life has been a web of secrets woven tighter with each stolen memory I aquire. Some of these were warm and inviting, others were painted with hues of neutral. With a touch, I could sift through a person's mind; cherry-picking their memory and taking what I want without leaving a trace. Some of these memories I sold in exchange for goods and services, others I hoarded like a dragon guarding its treasure, but there was one rule I adhered to strictly—I was to never take memories of any dark hue.
It was a rainy night when I found myself standing before the grand Lysandria Museum, its marble façade glistened with the tears of rain. The city's elite had gathered for a gala, and I had slipped in unnoticed, shrouded by their shadows. My target for the evening was Lord Reginald Hawthorne, a man with a penchant for acquiring rare, exotic things.
With a mask concealing my identity, I moved through the opulent halls, my gloved fingers brushing against silk-clad shoulders as I navigated the sea of partygoers. There, amidst the glint of jewels and the swirl of ornate gowns, I spotted him - Lord Hawthorne. His memories were my ticket to wealth beyond imagination.
As I approached him, the room seemed to slow, each heartbeat echoing in my ears. With a delicate brush of my shoulder, I reached into his mind, searching for the memories that would fetch the highest price. I delved deeper into his consciousness, and a chill shot down my spine; I had found something ominous. A memory unlike any I had encountered before—a dark, swirling abyss, of malevolent force that threatened to consume everything in it's wake - like a virus to a computer.
I tried to pull away, to sever the connection, but it clung to me like a shadow. My heart raced as I realized the truth—I had unwittingly stolen a memory of unspeakable horror, one that held the key to Lord Hawthorne's darkest secret.
Panic surged through me, as I swore I didn't go that deep into his being. Immediately fleeing the gala, my mind was now filling with images and emotions that were not my own. I needed to find answers, to uncover the mystery behind this memory, and to confront the demons of my past that it had now awakened.
Little did I know that this stolen memory would set in motion a chain of events that would unravel the very fabric of the world I thought I knew, forcing me to confront not only Lord Hawthorne's dark secret but the shadows of my own past that I had long tried to forget.
© Quiet Winter
