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... ely pace, dragging her coffin along as she walked, no different from a tortoise. Even outside of the Abyss, she had always seemed slow and deliberate.

But here, in the Mist Duchy, she was astonishingly fast.

Perhaps it wasn’t a mere metaphor when she said she had woven her darkness into the mist—because she moved as if she were swimming through the fog, manipulating it like flowing water.

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I wasn’t moving—the world was.

...

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