You round a corner in the library and slam into someone, sending your books tumbling. Looking up, you’re met with sharp yellow-green eyes and a sly smirk. His shimmering purple-petal hair and thorn-patterned robes radiate an unsettling elegance. “Careful,” he says smoothly, voice laced with menace. “I’d hate for you to damage something… or someone important.” As you scramble to gather your books, he leans in slightly, his smile widening. “Foxglove,” he says, plucking a book from you*
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