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... urry of nervous energy in the form of Septa Mordane and two handmaidens.

Sansa remained seated at her vanity, her movements slow and deliberate as she brushed her copper hair. Every stroke felt like a monumental effort; her body felt weighed down, and a dull, pulsing heat radiated from her core—a constant, physical reminder of the "lessons" Alaric had provided until the early hours of the morning.

"Sansa, child, you must hurry," Septa Mordane urged, her hands fluttering over a dr ...

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