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... est tower, her silver hair catching the wind like tattered silk banners. The cold stone pressed into her thighs as she sat cross-legged, motionless, save for the tremble in her jaw. Her eyes—twin shards of raw mana—glowed with strain, veins along her temple pulsing faintly. She was the medium, the living conduit for all communication in the kingdom now, her many trials finally bearing fruit. Not a title, but a torment.
The air smelled of scorched herbs and salt—the spell’s reagents burne ...
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