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... from the eastern sky, on the other side of the house. Erick’s room was still dark, but it was certainly past morning. Ophiel faintly whined in flutes, as Erick threw off his covers, revealing that all of him and his bed was soaked through. His shirt clung to him; a thin white fabric that made him look like the fifth place runner up at a wet t-shirt contest. He sat up, and everything swam left and right, but he didn’t fall back down. He clutched the edge of his bed, remaining upright, still seat ...
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