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... od from her tiny body, she lay motionless, her chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Silent, but breathing.
Yet Claude's eyes never left Dalia.
He knelt beside her, wiping the cold sweat from her brow, his fingers trembling. Her wounds were healing faster than expected, and color had begun to return to her lips.
"You're doing great, Mother," he whispered, voice hoarse. "Please… stay awake for a while longer."
In the modern world, there was an old supe ...
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