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... kness, stitched with stars that pulsed like trapped hearts. The walls breathed. Literally. They were covered with organic tapestries that whispered in extinct languages, each thread exuding the sickly scent of dead flowers and freshly spilled blood.

In the center of the room, floating on an altar of liquid obsidian, Eleonor reigned.

Her throne was made of enchanted gold, but it still seemed small before her. Her skin was white as the pale moon that had forgotten how to shine. Her ...

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