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Seeing their closeness feels like jagged glass in my heart and I mourn, though I don't know what. I wish I could set aside this terrible pain, but whatever it was that the comb awoke in my will not fade.

No doubt the children will approach the front gate of the castle. The castle is as magical as you, my ravens, and can shift its form. What does the front gate look like? Anyone should answer.


At the moment: living branches made of gold, twisted into an ornate door, with a single silver peony as the knocker.