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... t into her outstretched hands. Daffodil's fingers curled around the hilt, her grip tight and steady. For a moment, she stared at the weapon, her eyes tracing its edge, her expression unreadable.

Then, with a small nod to herself, she turned and began to walk toward the garden.

She moved slowly, deliberately, each step measured as if this walk held great significance. The knights and servants followed her at a distance, their soulless eyes watching her without emotion. I trailed b ...

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