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... rone beneath her still pulsed like it was alive—its heartbeat a slow, ancient rhythm, thudding through her bones. Her fingers curled against the obsidian armrests, trembling with restrained power. Her body was whole again, but different.

Reforged.

Her silver-black hair billowed behind her, brushing against the jagged throne-spikes like smoke caught in moonlight. Her new brands glowed faintly on her forearms—one a wing, the other a teardrop. Symbols of balance. Of choice.

...

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