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 What could be out there? And where could it be? We look, we search, but we still can't see. 

You think we exist, but you don't know we exist.

 We know you exist. 

We've always known that you exist.  

May we look far, and may we look hard, there will always something within the mist. 

To see us, you must look through.

 To find us, you must travel past the rings to get to us.

 But only time will tell how far you get, and by that time, we may forget.

 As the sun sets, and the storms collide to form a hexagonal mass of pure destruction, we wait for your arrival. 

For your species is needed for our survival. 

As we are carried away by the wind like a rotten plant, we hope that we are not forgotten.

May our language be easy to construe, even if you can't see us.


B̴̖̩̰̳͊̈́̿͑͗̐̌͝ͅu̴̲̎̒̏́̑͐̓̓̀̈́̈͂̋̚͜ţ̸̡̢̠̯̹̭̬̼͇̳̼̝̻̗͓͋̀̒͗͊̓̊͌̀͑ ̸̛̛͖̎͋̀̀̾̽̌͒́̄̀͆͛̈͐̔̕ẅ̶̙̰̘̟͚̗͈́̋͒̏̓́̒͛̕͝e̵̝̱͖̖̪͎͓̜͈͉̐̍̃̋͐͐̑̕͠ͅ ̸̧̛̛̜̮̺͚͎̦̑̈́̾̌̈̎̄̐͌̊͐̈́̉͘̕͠c̴̥̮̞͇̪̹͌̌̇͐̊́͜a̸͎̯͍͓̞̲̖̳̟̅̀͂̓̈́͆͆̔͗̋̆͜͝n̶̰̝̈͑͋͊̊͌̆͐͐͊̑͘ ̴̧̨̧̢̦̗̻͉͖̙̬͉̏̽͌̄͒̉̈̾̓̓́͛̈̾̆̚͜͠s̶̫̗͖̦͉̾̊̑̅̈́̚ẹ̵̢͙̮̯͇͕͚̑́́͌͐̐̔̾̕ê̸̡̢̡̖͚̪̤̦̖̥̹̭̫̝̼̰̟̰̰̅̉̒͋̆͂̕ ̷͖͙̻͉͔̝͉͕̬̤̗̃̐̒̑̈̏̽̍͠y̵̡͉͙̫̲̤̲̳͑̆͂́̈́̐̔̋̊͌̇̈́̽͗̂̾͘̕͘o̶̡̢̫̺͔̲̤̼̬̟̞̒̄͌̅͒͠u̷̢̢̢̢̨̞̻͓̫̝̹͕̫̪̰͚̙͗̑̌͗́̓́̈́́͒̌̚ͅ.̷̡͉̟̃͊̒̅̄̅̇̒̓̊̎͋̍͌͆͆̚͘

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