MEND ME IF YOU CAN.
But beginnings, Soren knew, were fragile things. They rarely announced themselves with fanfare. Instead, they bloomed quietly—like the faint glow of lantern light spilling across the floorboards, or the hesitant hush of dawn slipping past the edge of the sky. They were small, delicate, easy to overlook if one was not careful. And yet, if guarded and nurtured, they could grow roots strong enough to outlast storms.
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