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... my first death. His cold blue eyes pierced me, evaluating every word and gesture.

The two of us sat in his carriage, undisturbed as a mute scribe recorded our every word.

Despite the severity of the matter at hand, I couldnt shake the idea that this was all some sort of elaborate ruse. A cruel joke that could end the moment he decided the novelty of taking me seriously had faded. Only, despite my trepidation, it had been hours. He asked me questions and clarifications that indica ...

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