PREVIEW
... ing out verses like these in batches? How come writing poetry seems even easier than breathing for you?”
“This is fake, right? Fake, right? Am I dreaming??”
“Hiss hiss hiss… I’m frantically sucking in cool air! I’m about to turn into a draught pipe!”
The audience was buzzing, and a cacophony began to rise.
Everyone looked up at the noble seat at the top of the pavilion, where the Princely Heir sat high above, expression tranquil, dressed in brocade finery, seeming ...
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