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... atter into flesh, muscles bursting, blood dripping. There come the wails, the unpleasant heaving of frothy respiration, the wretchedness of the sloppy fistfight as it burns into the eyes of the observer.
Emilia: “...Subaru.”
Standing before the tomb's entrance, the onlooking Emilia puts her hand to her chest.
Her eyes host confusion, her fingers waver in search of something to cling to. The perpetually reliable presence at her chest and their warmth, aware as she is of it ...
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