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... t him.
The amber eyes — soft with everything, the cultivation light still faint and present at her skin, the tears still running, the mouth still slightly open.
He guided her.
The flat, specific, unhurried guidance of his hand in her hair — the root-grip, the same grip, the absolute, bone-following grip that the body followed because the head followed the hair.
She understood where she was being guided.
"Senior—" Small. "I don’t—I have never—"
He d ...
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