PREVIEW

... iddle-aged farmer with blue-purple corruption veins running up both arms. Willow stood at the front, her elegant features set in a skeptical expression.

"Whenever you’re ready," she said, folding her arms.

Grace wiped her sweaty palms on her robes. Great. An audience. Just what she needed.

[Don’t mess up, don’t mess up, don’t mess up...]

She took a deep breath and placed her hands on the farmer’s forearms. His skin felt ice-cold, like touching a corpse. Grace clos ...

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