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... p> Yuna’s scream was a raw, ragged thing, tearing at her own throat as it was swallowed by the oppressive, ink-black silence. Her claws, usually sharp enough to score steel, screeched uselessly against the invisible, yielding walls of her void prison.
The scream tore from her throat, raw and primal, echoing in the suffocating darkness that caged her. Her clawed hand lashed out, nails scraping against nothing—just empty void that swallowed every desperate movement.
Her red crimson ...
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