PREVIEW

... ites.

After weeks of work and talk, he made it there. Dasha Pang—nay, Myth, was announcing his music to these people. To these elites.

Everybody else was quiet. The whole of the second floor listened.

The music swelled and wove itself into the elite hearts. Myth sat poised, his fingers gliding over the strings of his lyre and the black opera mask concealing his features.

So many masks. So many weeks. Now...he was here. Heroics and villainy were not the sole method ...

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