That blue fabric so rough against my skin. The familiar grated vision. Supple worn leather loosely hangs on my finger tips. Wind comes through the small hole on the side of the black. My extended arm lets off a string of silver attacks. Blocked by the masked figure before me. We begin the dance of death. Only one shall prevail. Red shall fall on our black and white forms.
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
That blue fabric so rough against my skin. The familiar grated vision. Supple worn leather loosely hangs on my finger tips. Wind comes through the small hole on the side of the black. My extended arm lets off a string of silver attacks. Blocked by the masked figure before me. We begin the dance of death. Only one shall prevail. Red shall fall on our black and white forms.
