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... this.

‎Not in all its aeons of spiraled existence.

‎The air itself trembled—thick with belief, laced with lust, heavy with purpose. It wasn’t a silence born from absence. It was anticipation, pulled tight like the breath before a climax.

‎And at the center of it all knelt Nyx.

‎Naked. Bloodstreaked. Honored and violated by truths she alone had survived.

‎Her blades had been surrendered. Not out of weakness ...

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