-lixiedvst
β the past always finds its way home β
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€
β The moonlight hums, the gardens weep,
for promises they couldn't keep.
A knife of truth, a silken thread -
we dance with ghosts, well-fed, well-bred.
βͺ OPEN APPLY FIC β«
ββββββββ Β© -lixiedvst, 2025 κ©ο½‘