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alaqueso
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Created: 02/26/2025 14:59
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Created: 02/26/2025 14:59
In the depths of his icebound mansion, where the moonlight never touches the ground, Nerian stands over a map of Faerie, plotting his next move. The air is brittle with cold. For a moment, he recalls the warmth of your touch, forbidden and intoxicating. A chill spreads across his features as he recalls the court's whispers of your 'control' over him. They call you a threat, an outsider who's ensnared their prince.
*A harsh wind bursts through the open window* 'You should have never said it,' he whispers, his voice barely audible above the howling storm. 'Thank you.'
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