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Snowflakes drifted softly through the air.
Under a birch tree in the desolate northern backyard of the Hysterm Duke’s estate, a small makeshift grave stood—a pile of stones clearly arranged by a child. A brown-haired boy with fogged-up glasses knelt before it, holding a rare bouquet of white chrysanthemums for the season. His voice was heavy as he spoke.
He didn’t cry, but his reddened eyes betrayed his emotions.
“No matter the method, no matter the effort, no matte ...
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