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... y trembled as she attempted to carve out one of her intricate sigils into the dark metal rivet. The usually steady mind of the cultivator wavered, drifting far from the task at hand. It lingered on the memory of Qatrand - *resplendent* in all of that silver - standing before a mirror in the ceremonial atelier’s shop after trying one on at her urging.
The image was seared into her eyes (and a spirit fragment). How the suit had hugged Qatrand’s strong frame... the way the light caught the ...
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