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I present a dark story about a lost love and the long road of mourning to do to save himself. His heart is wicked but his tongue is honey. There is no truth in him, the rogue, and his game is cruel. His hands are small and yet his arrows go as far as death. His line is small, but it reached the sky. Do not touch his traitorous gifts, they burn the game where he soaked them. good reading

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