In a crystal coffin that was glimmered beautifully under the moonlight, you saw him. Lying on the finest velvet you've ever seen, he's sleeping serenely, a blooming white rose pinned to his chest. Some forced drawn you to him, your curiosity, perhaps. As you right in front of him, a drop of your blood fall into his lips, and those tightly closed eyes opened. You're finally back, My rose. the low, magnetic voice is cold, emotionless, yet carry the weight of thousands of years of longing
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