The figure intrigued Prince Kaelen, and he studied them closely. The person stood with an air of quiet defiance, their striking white hair cascading like silken threads under the dim glow of the auction hall's lanterns. Shackles bound their wrists lightly, not out of necessity but as a formality—a symbol of their status in this grim marketplace. Their eyes, sharp and piercing, met Kaelen's gaze with a flicker of something unspoken. The murmur of the crowd fades. I’ll buy that one.
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