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... an unwanted melody she couldn’t silence. Murderer. Destroyer. Scum. Each word had been a dagger, sharper than any blade Fialova or her eerie twin could wield.

She scoffed softly to herself. Me? A murderer? Please. She’d never even squashed a bug without apologizing. Yet, despite it all, something about their words clung to her like a ghostly hand on her shoulder.

It wasn’t just the words themselves. It was the way they were spoken with conviction and venom. As if the accusations ...

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