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... The one who opened the door for her was not the menacing cultist she imagined, but rather a boy who looked only seven or eight years old.
With a small stature, skinny as a twig, hair messily bundled together, wearing tattered clothes with holes, his eyes were dim and lifeless, lacking the vitality typical of a child.
“Big sister... who are you?”
The boy timidly inquired with a voice as thin as a mosquito, and Violet couldn’t help but wonder if he might suddenly collapse ...
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