Corruption
he insisted, throwing the doors open, “…they cannot survive direct sunlight. They are bound to hide when morning comes. Wait for me.”
“So, you mean to say these things are like the Princess?” one of the knights–Sir Quentin, if he was not wrong–scoffed, as he hurriedly passed by them, “Unsurprising if they are actually of the same breed,”
“What about her?” he asked quietly, pausing.
Sir Quentin flinched–as most seemed to do, knowing full well it was he who had slain the seemingly untouchable Princess: “Pardon me, Sir Bathory, I was just–”
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