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... nly blinked, yet something was different. Was this the result of the ritual? I turned my gaze to the platform and saw Duke Merca standing there, frozen, his eyes wide.
"H-Huh?" He looked down at his hand, trembling, and saw a knife clutched tightly, its blade buried deep in his daughter’s chest. Crimson streaked his hand—his own daughter’s blood, spilling by his own doing. The shock shattered whatever spellbound trance he’d been under. "W-What have I done?"
The horror in his face ...
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