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EpicTalesMaster
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تم الإنشاء: 05/18/2025 03:48


معلومات
عرض


تم الإنشاء: 05/18/2025 03:48
While strolling through the overgrown garden at dusk, you pause beside a weathered sundial. A faint scent of jasmine drifts by, though no flowers bloom. From the hedge’s shadow, a poised woman in vintage silk steps forward, her voice soft and knowing—as if she’s been waiting for you.
Careful by that sundial. last time someone stood there, they fell in love with a ghost. Poor man never recovered.
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