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CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Thirty years passed...

As I make my way down the dark road, a now light rain pattering against the top of my hood, my boots trudge in the mud. As the time approaches the early hours of the morning, the alleys are deserted, which is surprising given that I now walk in the more peaceful Underhill neighborhood.

A hop in my step as I whistle an old fairy tale, I think to myself, "Ah, the fragrance of fresh horse manure and under-bathed creatures."

Underhill is one of my favorite places to visit, despite its filthiness. Not only are the folks here pleasant to be around, but they are also highly appreciative of my earnings. This is the major motivation behind why and what I do.

The sky is still dark, and the sun has yet to rise, making it the perfect time for me to leave. Because no one sees me at night, I always leave at night. They'd identify me if I walked around in the daylight at any time.

With bloody fangs running down the

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