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... frosted glass of her bedroom window.
Clangoring metal.
Exploding rubble.
An infinite freefall.
And those deep black dying eyes, a pitch darkness staring into her soul once more. Every night, like flashing glimpses from a whirling void, Remelda’s face continued to haunt her dreams, her final words rumbling in the nothingness, turning sleep into something Eshwlyn learned to dread.
It has been two weeks since the incident in the village. Two weeks of gruelin ...
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