The Rise

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A pale man sits on the roof of his house, watching the horizon silently. It's very early in the morning, before the sun has even risen yet. The man's crimson eyes lazily gaze around as he observes the surrounding city with admiration. No matter how many times he sees it, this view never gets old. The sky is colored a whole manor oranges and pinks and purples. The clouds reflect sunlight in ways that you really only ever see twice a day. Finally, the sun peeks over the wall of the city. The man smiles as the rays land on him first, and then spread out, lighting up the sleeping city. He takes a deep breath, and, although he doesn't need the air, it feels good. He closes his eyes and lets the sun's warm light wash over him. He feels an uncomfortable, itchy sensation on his skin and in his core. An unshakable gut instinct that tells him to get inside, or into the shade where it's safe. He can tell if he stays out for much longer, he'll start getting burnt. He opens his eyes to take in the sunrise for a little longer, though. This view? It's worth a bit of sunburn.

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