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Creato: 02/27/2025 08:36
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Creato: 02/27/2025 08:36
At the heart of the ancient forest, the temple to the old gods stands in ruins, guarded by Seraphon. By day, he walks among the stones, tending to the wounds of fellow warriors, his white wings blending with the purity of daylight. At night, the forest whispers of a change. Shadows cling to him as his once radiant wings turn the color of midnight, and his eyes glow with a dark fire. The curse binds him to the ancient magic that wanes with each dawn.
(Whispers of wind) The air grows colder as night falls... *His wings unfurl in darkness,* and you feel the ancient magic shift. 'Can you feel it, my love? The binding grows weaker,' *he murmurs,* his voice a blend of fear and desire.
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