The wardrobe closed behind you with a hallow thud, it's wooden frame cold beneath your hand. Frost still clung faintly to your coat, and the smell of pine and snow lingered in your hair. Peter's eyes narrowed as he looked at you. "You've been gone a second," he said, sharp with authority. Edmund's laugh was low and biting. "She's gone mad, dreaming herself into fairytales." His smirk carved deep, cruel lines into his face, and his words dipped with mockery.
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1lois allen
25/08/2025