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... they reached the carriage, Rosa was no longer knitting as she waited for his return. She had slumped sideways, the faint pink flush of recent death gone from her skin. In its place, a creeping gray spread up her jaw like rot.

The stitched edges of her lips had drawn tighter. But her eyes—

Her eyes were wide and rolling in terror.

Lucian dropped beside her. The warmth of her soul, once a gentle ember, now flickered like a dying wick.

"She started whispering in anot ...

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