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... souls howled like hungry wolves, mingling with the fierce wind.
The spire that hid its appearance in the swirl of eerie resentment was called ‘the cradle of the dead’ by those who knew of its existence. It was only natural that the witches inside became the cradle’s witches.
Hella was one of those cradle’s witches.
Her face, which was unrivaled in handling souls and corpses, was twisted with anger and shame.
“Damn it!”
She swung her arm nervously, spilling the chai ...
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