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... than a whisper.

He lay curled on the cold, damp stone of his dungeon cell, the chill seeping into his bones as if the earth itself wanted to swallow him whole.

The air smelled of rust and mildew, heavy and suffocating.

He pressed a trembling hand to his stomach, fingers splaying over the tender bump. The ache there was constant, relentless—his baby. Still alive, no matter how much he had tried to kill it.

Still living... only to die with him.

"...please ...

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