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... smile as vibrantly as a field of wildflowers, radiating a purity so flawless she seemed untouched by even the faintest trace of imperfection. She had appeared so kind, as if she could embrace all the mistakes and flaws of others.

There was always a warm curve to her lips—even now, as a hero pulled her head out of a sack soaked with blood.

The citizens cheered, for the Witch of the Western Forest was dead.

***As darkness began to fall, the master and disciple parted ways, ...

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