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... oncepts. Her motivations? As abstract as the things she creates, if you can even call them that."
For a moment, Black Daffodil's gaze lingered, the air thick with her dissatisfaction. She tapped her fingers lightly, a rhythmic sound that echoed in the silent room. Then, abruptly, she changed the topic with a dismissive wave of her hand.
"Well," she murmured, "There are always more intriguing topics to converse, aren't there?"
The shift was calculated, and I knew then that ...
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