Burn, Butcher, Burn.

Burn, Butcher, Burn.

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WpMetadataReadComplete Tue, Feb 8, 202210m
The bard's instrument had been tuned some time ago. His crimson coat draped over his shoulders. His brown hair tracing the contours of his face. The scene was entirely his to enjoy. His words would no longer be praise for the silver shadow. He was tired of it. Tired of singing about things he didn't believe in anymore. He was no longer by his side. And the stage was all his for tonight. !/ English is not my native language /!
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jaskier
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