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A scarlet tablecloth floated in front of her. And even when Vikta blinked, she didn't disappear, it only got worse and brighter, clearer and scarier. It was blood that could not be washed away, like three eyes that were inflamed with tears. They were broken bodies that were devoured alive, and those who ate them laughed at their pleas and cries of horror. She could still see the face of that psoglavka whose hand she had never been able to touch. And the child that the nitsiri carried for so long through the forest and snow, lying on the ground like an abandoned log. Did she think the bag yelped when the female rok'hee dropped it to the ground, or was it just her frayed nerves playing tricks?

She took out a pebble and brought it closer to her eyes. I didn’t see anything, blackness inside, blackness around. She had no doubt that the artifact was dead, and her eyes did not deceive her.

Well, let. Think about it. Catch another wormhole. They are in the Forest, like roosters at the fair. E
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