PREVIEW
... "Too cold. Or too hot. Doesn’t that get boring?"
Her voice was soft and whimsical, but wrong like a music box echoing from the bottom of a grave.
She twirled slowly. Her dress painted blood over the ash like a child’s brushstroke on torn paper. Her feet moved in silence, too perfect, too rehearsed, like a memory playing itself out on a loop.
Airi stiffened. Her breath caught in her throat.
"That voice..."
Crest stepped beside her, face pale, his jaw clench ...
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