Stories by Sarah Danielle
Stories by Sarah Danielle
Forsaken by Shadows 31: Scars and Tragedies
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Forsaken by Shadows 31: Scars and Tragedies

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To Beki, the friend I needed most when my life was miserable. If not for her stalwart companionship, I don’t know how I would have made it through to the blissful life I am living now.


Previously, on Forsaken by Shadows, from Solaurin’s point of view,

Home. At. Last. 

Some elves are cut out for a life of adventuring. I am not one of them. The discomfort, the distress, the monotony of the journey…no, thank you. I will work my ministry from the familiarity of my own home from now on, if Eilistraee allows. 

Speaking of said ministry, I bring my new Voices inside, leading through the workshop and up into the kitchen, where I realize how woefully unprepared I am to offer hospitality. I can only supply water and tea while we wait for Ti’yana to return from our much-more-hospitable neighbors. 

Rismyn, the poor boy, has clearly fallen under Ti’yana’s charm, as he wanders about more dazed than the city left him. Ah, well. It is not his fault. Her beauty is supernatural, in a way that will be further explained in later parts of the story.

I manage to locate at least one more chair for the table, after wincing at the sight of our third bedroom, the one we’re supposed to keep ready for guests but have unfortunately neglected. Just another item to add to the list of things to do now that we have Rismyn and Mazira living with us. 

Ti’yana returns with Goodie Amberfane’s delectable cooking, and we take a moment to feast, while I use the opportunity to expound upon our fair society here. The Garden Caverns truly are a marvel, and though I can see the knowledge inflicts pain on Mazira, it is the kind of pain that leads to growth, so I let it be. 

We then proceed to a brief discussion on room arrangements, in which I confirm that Rismyn has no concept of proper boundaries, at least so far as Mazira is concerned, and add that item to my list of future concerns, as well. For now, I seize the opportunity to separate the pair and invite Rismyn to follow me. The boy desperately needs a change of clothes, anyway. And a bath, but that can be handled tomorrow. 

Unfortunately, the child is unusually sized for a male, so the clothing I can lend him is woefully inadequate. Another item for the list, and then we are outside, where I can enjoy my pipeweed in peace and begin what will be the first of many healing conversations. 

But of course, sharing takes trust, so as we broach the subject of his past, I choose to share mine first. It is not easy to speak of it, so I tell the story as though I am removed from it.

But he needs to understand. So I tell him about Korinna, my wife, the mother of Ti’yana, who I killed in defense of my life. More than that, I could not share. It is not easy to speak of my sins, though I know I am now forgiven. The wound is still visceral, these twenty-three years later. 

But my wounds are not the point. They are merely a means to an end. After a bit of trust has been gained, I manage to convince Rismyn to tell me his story. I can only hope Ti’yana is having some margin of success with Mazira…

~16. Scars and Tragedies~

Mazira watched helplessly as Rismyn followed Solaurin from the kitchen, leaving her alone with a total stranger, the very thing she’d been glad to avoid when the priest had been assigned to them. She hadn’t connected that living with Solaurin meant living with the daughter he’d mentioned previously. The girl he said she’d probably like. 

If she wasn’t a dark elf. A female dark elf, which was infinitely more dangerous than a male. Females were cruel just because they could be, just because it gave them power. Females were–

Mazira cut off her runaway thoughts with a deep breath, willing her nerves to settle. This wasn’t Menzoberranzan. This was a new city, ruled by a different goddess, and Ti’yana had shown no signs of aggression or vindictiveness. Quite the opposite, actually. 

Mazira eyed the priest’s daughter furtively, unsure of what to think. The young woman stared after the men with a look of concern, her arms crossed over her chest, before spinning suddenly and dropping in the seat Rismyn had once occupied. 

“Well, I guess we’re not invited,” she said, though she didn’t sound put off. “That’s alright. I’m looking forward to getting to know you, Mazira.” 

Mazira’s fingers dug into the fabric of her leggings, and she nodded, unsure of what to say. She couldn’t bring herself to lift her eyes, even though she suspected she was supposed to. Belnir had told her no one held to the practice. Would she get in trouble if she couldn’t do it? Would Ti’yana be offended she wasn’t behaving properly? Would she get thrown out? Dismissed? Abandoned? 

Would Rismyn be upset if he found out? 

“Mazira,” Ti’yana said. She sounded hesitant, and Mazira wished more than ever she could force herself to look up, to read the expression in the other girl’s eyes. Was she behaving wrong? Was she already in trouble? 

“I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through.” 

What? She must not have heard that right. Her head whipped up, jarred loose from its paralysis by the stunning declaration. 

Ti’yana was watching her with compassion in her eyes. The expression was so tender, so sincere, that Mazira found herself trapped in that silver gaze.   

“I can tell it was a truly difficult journey to get here,” she continued. “You’re all worn down to the bone, and if even half of what I heard about dragon turtles was true, I can’t imagine what it must have been like. I’m so sorry.” 

Mazira just stared, numbed by the astonishing kindness. 

“It wasn’t…” she began, intending to brush the concern away. Ti’yana clearly wanted some sort of reassurance that everything was okay. But as she started to speak, her mind cast back to the last few months of wandering in darkness. 

The constant hunger and fatigue, the fights with Rismyn. Toloruel’s mind games and brutal attack, their escape into the river. Thinking she was going to lose Rismyn forever and realizing how mortal that heart-wound would be. The agonizing fear of waiting for him to wake while drow lurked in the shadows. More long walks, when all she wanted was to collapse. The boat ride, the dragon turtle, the trial and shock of returning to a city after so long in the wilderness. 

“It…wasn’t,” she choked, but the rest of the words were swallowed by a swell of emotion. No, this couldn’t happen now. She wasn’t alone. Everything was supposed to remain neatly tucked away until she could break down where it was safe. 

But she couldn’t stop it. The tides overcame her. Instead of the words she’d been intending to feed the girl, a strangled sound came from her throat. A fountain of tears gushed from her eyes. 

She buried her face in her hands and wept. 

It was a long time before Mazira mastered herself enough to realize that she was being held. Ti’yana had come around her, encircling her in a tight embrace. She knew it was Ti’yana, even though her eyes remained shut. Rismyn’s arms were strong and hard, and though she hadn’t been held by him in a very long time, the sensation still remained poignant in her mind. There had been no one else to hold her and take his place. 

But this touch was soft, feminine. Familiar. The ghost of her mother’s embrace, returned to her seventeen years later. Real pain lanced through her heart, and though in the back of her mind she remembered Ti’yana was drow, she clung to the girl and fell victim to another wave of scalding tears. 

“Would you like a bath?” Ti’yana asked, sometime later. “I always find a hot bath soothing after a hard cycle. We have our own washroom, you know, with heated water on command. Father isn’t completely over his old luxuries. I can draw one up for you. It’s no trouble at all.” 

Mazira sat hunched over, her own arms hugging herself as Ti’yana rubbed her back. Like she was a little girl sobbing on her mother’s petticoats. 

But she had been unable to pull away. Ti’yana was all warm comfort, as though she wasn’t made of drow at all. If Mazira thought about it too long, she remembered to be mortified. But now wasn’t a time for thinking. It was time for absorbing.

Her breath came in deep, wracking shudders, as though her meltdown had redefined the function of her lungs. She only barely comprehended what Ti’yana said, but was vaguely aware there was a question in there. 

After a moment, she puzzled it out and shook her head, attempting to straighten up. “No,” she rasped, humiliated by her own weakness. “Rest, please. I’m so tired.” 

“Of course,” Ti’yana said, standing and offering her hand to help her rise, as well.

Mazira was obliged to take it, having no strength left in her to make it on her own. 

“It’ll be real quick to get you settled,” the drow assured her. “I’ll just change the linens for you, and then the room’s all yours.” 

Mazira only nodded, following the girl through one door and then another. Her mind was spent, with very little left to give in the way of observation of the world around her. Ti’yana could have led her to one of Mindra’s spider venom testing rooms and Mazira wouldn’t have cared, so long as she got to lie still on the stone slab while she waited to be experimented on. 

But Ti’yana did not lead her to a laboratory, or a torture room, or a cage. Instead, she opened the door into a small bedroom adorned in blues and silvers. This, at least, stirred something in her, and she stopped just over the threshold and stared at the many wall hangings around her. 

They were images of the surface world. Night scenes, mostly. Moonlight over fields of white lilies. An owl soaring in a starry sky. The weavings were so intricate, so detailed, that it was almost like looking through a window. 

Her newly restored countenance wavered and she thought she might dissolve again. Fortunately, Ti’yana distracted her with a flourish of sheets as she ripped them from the narrow bed pushed against one of the walls. It drew her attention away from the tapestries to the rest of the room furnishings. 

On the far wall was a window that was painted with translucent colors. At the moment, the only light shining through it was red, but she could tell by the way the light refracted the glass was multifaceted. Beneath that was a desk littered with fabric, papers, and books. The books, at least, had probably come off the shelf that stood adjacent to the desk, although it was jammed tightly with so many other leather spines it was hard to imagine any more fitting on them. 

“I’m usually much better organized than this,” Ti’yana said, with nervous laughter as she noticed Mazira’s attention on the desk. She crumpled the sheets into a wad and tossed them past Mazira out into the hall. “I’ve just been worried to death over Father’s expedition. Tried to distract myself by experimenting with Millie, but when the rumors reached me I forgot to put my mess away.” 

The words chilled Mazira, and she went stiff. “Millie…?” she asked, thinking again of the spiders in Mindra’s menagerie. 

“Yep! She’s right behind you in the corner. What do you think? Be honest.” 

Horrified, Mazira spun, then stumbled back from the humanoid form that had been lurking behind her. And then she realized it was just that–a form. A dress form, to be precise. Completely featureless, made of stuffed fabric in a shape that resembled a woman’s torso. There was a half-sewn gown draped over it, the edges left raw and some of the stitching hanging loose. 

Mercy, it was just a dress form. Like it was just a cat at the temple. Mazira took deep breaths, willing her heartbeat to return to normal as her face flamed. 

“I know the ruffles are a bit much for sensible cave wear,” Ti’yana said, uncertainly. “But it’s the height of fashion in Waterdeep right now.”

Mazira blinked slowly, taking in the high neckline of the satin dress and the ruffled sleeves. “It’s lovely,” she said, though her chest twinged over not being entirely sincere. Personally, she found the amount of fabric to be excessive and impractical, but she couldn’t deny it was skillful work. She wouldn’t be surprised at all if it was the fashion in Waterdeep. On her one and only visit to the city, she–

“Wait,” she said, turning back to the dark elf suddenly. “You’ve been to Waterdeep?” 

“Oh, I wish,” Ti’yana sighed, looking wistful. “No, Father says I’m not old enough to make a pilgrimage to the surface. He says we’ll go when I crest my first century. But the traders bring pamphlets for me, so I can get inspired.” She moved over to the desk, swept up one of her documents, and then offered it to Mazira. “I love making dresses. I’m sort of apprenticed to the tailor up the road, but Father needs me here more often than not. He’s trying to get more help, but most of the boys who come here for an apprenticeship aren’t really interested in apprenticeships, if you know what I mean.” 

No, Mazira didn’t know what she meant, but she also wasn’t truly listening anymore. She was staring down at the smooth paper that was suddenly in her hand. It had a charcoal drawing of a silhouette of a city, with words she couldn’t read scrawled across the top of it. There were more pages, and as Mazira thumbed through it she was glad there were more illustrations than words. Ti’yana wasn’t wrong; in every sketch of lords and ladies dancing or walking the streets, the dresses were adorned with ruffles. 

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the pages, even as Ti’yana chattered away. It was evidence of life, of joy, of real happiness existing somewhere above her head. She couldn’t decide how it made her feel, and until she puzzled it out, she wanted nothing more than to sit and stare at the pages. 

She lost herself flipping back and forth, hardly registering when Ti’yana moved around her, returning with clean sheets and finishing the chore of making the bed. She had moved on to tidying the desk before it suddenly occurred to Mazira that she was sitting on the floor doing nothing while a drow did common house chores. 

She gasped and dropped the pamphlet. “My lady I’m so sorry–” she started, and then clapped a hand over her mouth. 

Ti’yana blinked at her, and for a moment, she looked stricken, but she covered it quickly with her dazzling smile. “I think that’s everything,” she said, gesturing around, and it truly was. Everything Mazira would have thought to tidy up and put back in order was already taken care of. “I’ll grab a few things for myself and then you can make yourself at home.” 

Mazira just nodded, flushed and on the verge of new tears. She didn’t know what to say, or do, or how to act. Ti’yana couldn’t really mean for her, a lowly faerie, to sleep in her own room, let alone her bed, could she? It wasn’t conceivable. And yet every indication was there. 

Ti’yana busied herself in her wardrobe, collecting her items. Suddenly, she froze and poked her head out from behind the door. “I just realized,” she said, sounding scandalized. “You don’t have anything to sleep in, do you?”

Mazira looked down at herself, a little befuddled. 

“I cannot believe I didn’t think of it sooner.” Ti’yana threw down her own selections on the bed and turned back into the cupboard. “Selfish, Ti,” she muttered to herself. She knelt over a drawer and pulled out a shiny, ocean-blue something. 

“How about this, for tonight?” she said, offering the fine material to Mazira. “It’s one of my favorite shifts, I think you’ll like it. And…” her brows knit together as she looked into the wardrobe, and then suddenly shot up, as an idea occurred to her. “No, not these.” She clapped her hands together. “You deserve more than my hand-me-downs. I’m going to make you a fresh dress. Tonight! It’ll be ready by the time you rise at Blue Light.” 

Mazira gaped at her, holding the silky garment in her hands. Was she…serious?

But the longer Mazira was silent, the more excited Ti’yana seemed to grow. “Yes! This is perfect! And I know just the bolt to cut from. You’re going to look absolutely stunning. But don’t worry–it’ll be practical for everyday wear.” She’d turned her back on Mazira and started rummaging through desk drawers. “I’ll just get your measurements. Change into the sleep shift, and I’ll be right back!” And then she bustled out of the room. 

Mazira didn’t move. It had been a long time since something shocked her so thoroughly, and after the previous encounters earlier in the day she thought she couldn’t be shocked ever again. She looked down at the shimmery material she clutched and felt a little sick at the prospect of putting it on. It didn’t feel like clothing ought to feel. She wore scratchy wool smocks or thick drowcraft armor. This thing Ti’yana had told her to put on seemed like it would be about as comfortable as wandering around naked. 

She held it up and it got even worse. The neckline, both the front and back, was cut in a plunging V shape. Not only would she be revealing far more of her flesh than she approved of, she would be forced to expose both of her acid scars for scrutiny, and she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was repulsive enough without bearing those. 

But if she didn’t put it on, would all of Ti’yana’s seeming goodwill towards her vanish? How far would the drow woman tolerate defiance? 

She was still pondering these questions when Ti’yana returned, carrying a small stool. The drow stopped when she saw Mazira’s face and tilted her head to the side. “Is everything alright?” 

Mazira’s hands began to shake. “I’m…I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “But I…I really don’t want to wear this.” She’d meant to add, ‘please forgive me,’ to the end of her statement, but the words died in her throat. 

“Oh…that’s alright,” Ti’yana said. She tried to sound bright but Mazira could still hear a note of confusion in her words. She set down the stool and went back to the wardrobe. “I can find you something else.” 

This was not what Mazira wanted, either, but she was too afraid to say so. So she stood helplessly as Ti’yana pulled a few more shifts from her drawers, each a different jewel-bright color and all seemingly made in a similar fashion to the one Mazira had already rejected. 

“Maybe,” Mazira began, before her courage failed her again. But Ti’yana turned her luminous eyes on her expectantly, so she had to continue. “I can sleep with what I have.” 

The elf’s dark lips turned down in a frown. “I daresay you won’t be comfortable. Really, it’s okay. Anything I have is yours.” 

Mazira shook her head. She didn’t know how to explain to the girl that comfort had long ago stopped being a factor she considered. But Ti’yana seemed so hopeful, and something about her was so endearing that Mazira found she very much wanted to please her, and not just to spare herself suffering. Resigned, she placed a hand over her breast and said, “Do you have something that…covers this?”

Ti’yana’s eyes popped wide. “Oh, no.” She sounded flustered. “Please don’t think less of me–they’re just sleeping clothes so no one sees me in them, and I always wear a wrap if I have to step out of my room. I just don’t like the way it feels to have something around my throat while I sleep.” 

It took Mazira a moment to understand the girl was explaining her modesty habits, and now she, too, was blushing. “It’s not that,” she assured her. A drow female had the right to dress however she pleased; for that matter, she had the right to do whatever she pleased. “It’s…” but she trailed off, looking away, clutching the fabric above her ruined skin. 

“It’s what?” Ti’yana asked, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. She gestured for Mazira to sit beside her. “You can tell me, Mazira. I’d very much like to be your friend.” 

Rather than go to her, Mazira took a step back, shaking her head. This was not a statement she could accept whatsoever, no matter how sincere the drow sounded. “It’s nothing,” she said, warring between her desire to remain covered and her desire to please this woman who was responsible for her future. 

“Okay,” Ti’yana said, though the crestfallen look on her beautiful face sent a pang through Mazira’s heart. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. But at the very least, could you strip to your underclothes so I can get proper measurements?” 

Mazira let out a sound that half groaned, half whimpered. Ti’yana wasn’t getting it. “Please–I don’t want you to see,” she said, stepping back again. 

“Mazira.” Ti’yana was on her feet again, sounding concerned. She made to step towards her, then hesitated, clearly wavering between two opinions. Then, her expression resolved and her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, I’m clearly upsetting you. I can get a little carried away at times. This can wait until the Blue Light.” 

Somehow, this apology only made Mazira feel worse. “No, it’s not you,” she tried to explain. “It’s…it’s me…I’m…” She trailed off, unsure of what to say. The word that came to mind was hideous, but she wasn’t sure she had the heart to admit it out loud. Perhaps afraid? It was a valid excuse, but then Ti’yana may try to reassure her. Finally, she let her hands fall to the side and hung her head, settling for the bare facts. “I’m scarred.” 

Ti’yana didn’t react immediately. She just stared at her, her eyes softening back into that appalling compassion. “I’m so sorry,” she said finally. “Many people here have scars, I should have understood.” 

Mazira opened her mouth to protest, but Ti’yana stepped forward and held out the ocean shift again. 

“If you’ll permit me, I’ll make your dress so it hides everything you don’t wish to be seen. All I need are your measurements. I would be honored.” 

And it was settled just like that. Confused, Mazira found herself acquiescing, taking the shiny, slippery material from Ti’yana, who turned around and fussed with whatever was in her wardrobe, giving her privacy. She stripped away her adamantine armor slowly, as if in a trance. Her reservations ran deep, and when her bare skin was exposed to the air, she shuddered. This was a level of vulnerability she’d hoped to never suffer through again. 

She let the silky fabric of the shift fall over her head and drop down to her ankles, then wrapped her arms around herself. It was hard to hold on, though, without the coarse material she was used to. “Okay,” she said, brushing a hand absently over her pebbled skin. 

Ti’yana turned around with a smile, a smile which dropped from her lips when her eyes fell on the scar Mazira was doing a poor job of concealing with her hand. The look of shock vanished as she came towards her, however, all radiant beams once more. 

“As I thought,” she said, her tone unnaturally warm. “Blue looks marvelous on you. The richness of the hue brightens your features. I love it. Come, stand up here. This won’t take long.” 

Mazira did as she was bid, stepping up on the stool and feeling a little like she did when Toloruel set her in front of Rismyn’s class to be displayed. At least she was only exposed to one set of drow eyes, and Ti’yana seemed genuinely sincere in her interest in dressing her, as Mazira had once dressed her dolly as a girl. 

The dark elf chattered away as she worked, wrapping a thin strip of cloth around every part of her body and scratching the measurements down. She spoke of fabrics and dress cuts, and Mazira just bobbed her head as though she understood what was being talked about. 

This went on for several minutes, until the measuring tape cinched around her waist.

Ti’yana broke off mid-sentence, staring at the number under her thumb with a frown. She pulled the ribbon away and took the measurement again. 

“Is…something wrong?” Mazira asked nervously, as the girl’s disapproval became more evident. 

“What? No,” Tiyana said, waving her hand as she took up her ink pen and wrote the number down. She tried to smile. “I just caught the tape on my thumb and had to redo it.” She looked anywhere but at Mazira directly. “I think an empire waist with a halter neckline will flatter you well,” she said. “It will–”

But again, she cut off abruptly, for she had just stepped behind Mazira. This time her words ceased with a sharp inhale. 

Mazira didn’t have to guess what caused it. Ti’yana’s fingers traced the pattern of the spindly spider legs which reached for her shoulders. 

Now it was her turn to breathe in suddenly. She would have bolted away, for the sensation was far too much like Toloruel admiring his work, but something about standing on the stool left her feeling caged. Ti’yana wasn’t done with her yet; she hadn’t been given permission to step down. 

“What did they do to you?” Ti’yana whispered, her palm pressed over the center of her back where the abdomen of the spider was. Her words were so soft Mazira didn’t think she was supposed to respond. 

It was more than she could bear. “Am I…done?” she asked. It was almost a squeak. 

Ti’yana’s hand vanished from her back. “Sorry! Just one more measurement.” 

The tape unraveled as she measured her shoulder to her hips, and then Ti’yana declared she had what she needed. Mazira stepped gratefully down and wrapped her arms back around herself. She eyed her folded black armor wistfully and wondered if she could crawl back into it without insulting Ti’yana. 

“Well, is there anything else you might need?” Ti’yana asked, nudging the stool into the corner near the mannequin with her foot. 

Mazira shook her head.

Ti’yana almost looked disappointed. Her eyes trail back to the scar on her chest. “Mazira…” she began. She looked like she had much to say. Her lip trembled, and she folded her arms under her bosom, closing in on herself much the same way Mazira was prone to. But just as she opened her mouth again, there was suddenly a sound in the streets. 

It was music, like a harp dancing through the whole cavern. 

Ti’yana relaxed, sweeping back to the window and throwing it open. “It’s the Evensong,” she said, as if that meant something to Mazira. 

The harp faded, but the music continued, as a low chorus of voices took its place. Mazira perked up, the music soothing her soul like a drink of cold water after a long walk. 

Ti’yana centered herself before the open window, closing her eyes and raising her hands. And then she was singing, too. 

She was not merely a beautiful person. Her clear, mellifluous voice struck Mazira dumb, as she stared in wonder at the woman before her. Radiant didn’t even begin to describe her. Mazira no longer saw a drow to be wary of, or a girl to be jealous of, or even a potential friend to confide in. 

As she gazed upon the elven woman standing at the window, the music charging her like a shock of lightning, Mazira truly believed that she beheld an avatar of deity. Not a goddess herself, but one who was clearly marked as special, different. Otherworldly. More than Solaurin, wielding radiant fire, or the other priestesses singing Belnir back to life.

Ti’yana was touched by the divine directly. Mazira was sure of it. 

The song ended far sooner than Mazira would have liked, but Ti’yana stood still, enraptured by the moment. Then, she sighed and shut the window, all of her distress seemingly melted away. 

“We give our voices back to our Great Sister,” Ti’yana said, turning back to Mazira. “We pour out the cycle’s emotion in music, and prepare our hearts to rest.” 

“It was lovely,” Mazira said, a touch breathless. 

“Thank you.” She glided towards Mazira and wrapped her in a warm embrace. 

Mazira was so shocked, she just stood there, unsure of what to do. 

“I hope you’ll sing with us one day,” the drow said. “Sleep well, Mazira. I can’t promise all your troubles are over, but I can promise you a better home here than what you’ve had.” 

Then she let her go. 

Mazira only nodded and murmured her own well wishes for good sleep. She was numbed, having felt too many feelings all at once to comprehend. Then Ti’yana left her, and she was finally alone. 

She stood for a moment, surveying the room and the night scenes woven around her. She looked down at the freshly made bed, the bed she was supposed to sleep in. She looked back at the door, went to it, and discovered it hadn’t been locked behind her. She really could leave if she wanted. 

Baffled and exhausted, Mazira went to the bed. It was entirely too soft, and the fabric against her skin was cool and smooth as water. But she had been given it to use out of kindness. So she would give it her best shot.

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Disclaimer: Forsaken by Shadows is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.

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