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    Summary

    The scholar's bedroom, nestled in the highest spire of the grand library, was a sanctuary of knowledge and quietude. The Sage of Truth, with his long, flowing blue and milky hair, sat at an ancient oak desk, the corners of his eyes crinkling with exhaustion as he meticulously scribbled in a leather-bound tome. Stars twinkled within the midnight blue strands, as if the cosmos themselves whispered secrets into his ears. His gentle, scholarly voice was lost in the pattern of quills against parchment.


    "Sage," began Pure Vanilla, his voice a gentle caress, "you've been neglecting yourself again."

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