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Summary
Alastor looks at the six flowers that act as the hellish equivalent of a rose, three red-crimson and three a bright magenta, black thorns sprouting from an equally black stem, a streak of neon blue along them, disrupting the palette. It fits, regardless.
“I thought you didn’t like flowers.” Charlie says, still looking at them in curiosity, but keeping her hands firmly in her lap.
Series
- Part 2 of A Red-Magenta Gradient
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