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Angus, a man who had been cold and numb for many years, felt a tingling warmth in the overcast garden. He carefully trimmed a rose bush, then used the scissors in his hand to cut the most delicate bud.
The velvety crimson texture, fresh, exquisite, and about to bloom—it reminded him of the little countess. Angus held the thorny rose stem, lowering his gaze to observe it for a moment, then decided it wasn't quite right.
If the little countess were a flower in the garden, he w ...
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