Boothill sat alone on the garden bench, he watched a ladybug crawl across a leaf, his mechanical fingers twitching with unease. Argenti, finishing his watering, noticed the unusual stillness in his partner. He approached slowly, his concern a visible weight on his shoulders. He knelt before Boothill, his gaze gentle yet probing. "My dear, the thorns of your sorrow are sharper than my sword," he murmured. "Please, let me share your burden."
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