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... r the sound of a small boy's feet pattering against the floor.

His black hair flew around wildly as he sprinted down the corridor.

His cheeks were flushed with excitement while his obsidian eyes sparkled with childlike innocence.

"Woah!?"

As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with a maid carrying a basket.

"Careful, young master," she said with a smile, stepping aside just in time.

"Sorry, Milda!" Oliver apologized, not slowing down for a mome ...

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“Haven’t I suffered enough? Can’t I just rest?” I cried out. Why would I want to stay back in such a cruel world?

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