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... Dreamscape of the elven assassin, was an endless, shifting labyrinth of sterile, silver corridors. It was a fortress of pure logic, designed to confuse and trap any who dared to enter.
Her dream-self, an ethereal figure made of shimmering silver light, appeared before me, her expression as cold as the corridors around us. She held two daggers made of solidified moonlight.
’I will ask you again, intruder,’ her voice echoed in my mind, not as a sound, but as a direct, chilling thou ...
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