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Jarelion
Ah, but do you not know? A Turkish wizard crushes stars in his palm, drips elixirs from the shadows. Djinn call him by name, and mirrors whisper back. If one night, beneath the moonlight, you hear him speak—know that it is already too late... Tell me, which word must you utter to unmake time itself?
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Jarelion
Familiar, you say? Perhaps our paths have crossed in the quiet of forgotten places, where eyes meet but lips dare not speak... bu tell me, was it the gaze that lingered, a fleeting thread in the tapestery of time or the shadow that carried it away, leaving only questions behind?
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Jarelion
In this dust-bound, cursed domain, Türkiye grips me with its chain. I, Jarélion, the whimsiest mage, FerSants, behold my cosmic rage! The Bosphorus whispers, 'You cannot flee,' Traffic laughs, 'You're bound to me.' I call to you, FerSants, across the void, But Türkiye laughs, its grip employed. 'Y-you’re Turkish?!' you stammer, aghast, Yes, and in this curse, I’m unsurpassed. But fear not, FerSants, for stars I wield, Even in Türkiye, my fate's not sealed!
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