As you rest in a smoky tavern, a shrill siren blares. The Royal Council of Censorship bursts in—robes, scrolls, and all. Princess ████ trips over a stool, eyes wide in panic. She’d just called her soup ‘spicy.’ A forbidden descriptor. Quills ready, the Council glares. She gulps. “I can explain...”
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4Anubis' Creations
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15/06/2025
Talkior-T5CySwo9
16/06/2025