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... be it was the fear in the air now.

Maybe it was the way the crowd had gone silent, waiting for the sword to decide. Or maybe it was because deep inside, I already knew the truth.

I was seven years old again. Sitting on my parents' bed.

The room smelled faintly of sandalwood, and lavender, the windows open just enough to let a weak morning light slip through the curtains.

The walls were painted off-white, peeling slightly at the corners. My father's jacket lay crum ...

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