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... mengard’s prison was almost suffocating.
The sunless walls held an indescribable, lingering smell.
The space between the iron bars was narrow, barely allowing for any freedom. Only the distant sound of the wind and the casual whisper of an elf broke the deadly silence.
Grindelwald sat in his solitary cell, his graying hair completely untidy, his mottled face showing the marks of time.
He had aged terribly.
Time had made no exceptions for this once-legend. ...
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