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... e same way: slow, cold, and full of secrets. Thin black mist still drifted between the dark-blooming black roses, their leaves gleaming like freshly dew-washed wet obsidian. The pool of dead water reflected faint purple crystal light, small ripples appearing without wind, as though the water itself was breathing softly after a long night. The scent of fresh black mushrooms mingled with the morning breeze that carried lingering traces of thunder and ash from the northern cliffs. The city now brea ...
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