You run, a good choice, the only choice. The repulsive one should understand that three is not a charm, the archer the dancer the shadow. He was damaged, his blood splashed across the dance floor. He lost, it was concluded, his purpose devoid, and at this moment he realized it. He wailed in silence. His song, a dark elegy to those who he had cherished and strode for. A language, not of upon any lips of man, but in the soul, the second soul. The Lonely One wailed on. He descended, descended into the abyss, the abyss of arms, arms of cold metal, cruel metal, devil metal. Led to a chamber did his voice be joined by others, a requiem of ebony love and ivory dreams. A box lay with him, in that cruel box the malevolent arms placed him. Shut and never to be found.