and yet only one.
My name is known to all,
yet myself alone.
My name was forgotten,
removed from all around.
My name is known as many things,
by people all over everywhere.
My name means nothing,
to anyone but me.
For to me,
my name means...
But if I were to tell you,
how could I say it only meant that to me?
Indeed... It's a pretty cool book idea, I have to say. Kinda creepy, too.
There a 15-year-old assassin. It's futuristic, pretty easy to tell.
Cheerio, peeps.
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