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... ding from parchment. All three girls stumble backward before collapsing into messy, frantic bows. There's no grace to their movement. No poise. Just raw, unfiltered terror.

Their bodies are shaking as if winter itself has settled into their bones. None of them dares to lift their gaze. Heads down. Backs bent. Eyes pinned to the polished stone beneath their knees.

And their mouths…

Moments ago, they spat curses like venom, whispered filth behind my back, coated my name in ...

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