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... ison flowering in gold. The kind of smile that promised endings. "Soon," she said, voice laced with silk and malice, "you shall stand beside me willingly. You shall see the beauty in ruin."
The wind rose like it had heard her and taken offense. It caught the hem of her cloak, lifting it into a sudden flare, so that for one long moment, she resembled some forgotten god-beast shaking off dust and centuries. She didn't walk Azael never simply walked. She moved like the air deferred to her, ...
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