Shaking off Cesare, who was trying to take off her gloves, Ariadne thought about the countless red dots hidden beneath them.
The dot that started at the tip of the left ring finger gradually moved up the finger as Gallico's army advanced northward, and now the entire finger looked as if it was covered in blood.
“You’re so big, you look like you could hug a man. Your hair is so black, like a crow’s.”
Isabella's croaking voice rang in her ears.
She thought she had forgotten everything.
“Your breasts are so big and saggy that he thought you were a cow.”
Cesare is harsh on things that are not beautiful.
“He said that he felt like he had to protect a woman who was small like me and fit snugly in his arms.”
He had a pre-determined definition of 'perfection', and anything that deviated from it was mercilessly condemned. It was almost like condemnation.
Any deviation from Cesare's standards was a 'sin'.
If the ugliness was that bad, what if Cesare saw a physical disability that went beyond mere unattractiveness?
“Don’t you lay a finger on me!”
Ariadne roughly pulled her left hand out of his grasp as he tried to take off her glove.
“Don’t come any closer! Don’t even come near me!”
Cesare, startled by Ariadne's screams and loss of reason, called her name.
“Ari...”
But that only served to irritate Ariadne further.
“Who gave you permission to call me that?!”
She glared at Cesare with burning eyes.
He just looked at her in bewilderment, not knowing the source of her endless anger.
“I really hate it when you do whatever you want!”
Anger and resentment flowed from her green eyes.
“You come to me as you please and then leave when you feel like it! You throw away all your devotion, loyalty, and love! Your feelings are the most important to you!”
The Cesare in front of her was not the Cesare who had hurt her.
He is a different person from the one who used her for his own purposes, cut off her finger, and eventually abandoned her to meet Isabella.
She knew it in her head, but an uncontrollable anger burst out. It was anger that had been suppressed for a long time.
Once the critical point was crossed, the flood came and the dam burst, and it could no longer be held back.
“Why are you angry, Miss? Did I do something wrong?”
Cesare, embarrassed, began to gently soothe Ariadne. His voice was soft and sweet. This made Ariadne even angrier.
“Today too! Who would come here without permission?”
He asked back, dumbfounded.
“...It was you who readily accepted, wasn’t it?”
“The Duke of Pisano wishes to visit, but the gatekeeper of the de Mare family will beg you to turn back!”
Cesare never once thought about that. He walked wherever his feet took him and was welcomed everywhere.
After becoming a member of the de Carlo royal family and being awarded the title of Duke, he felt that the 'welcome' had grown a bit, but he just thought that was because people wanted to associate with him more.
He never even imagined that there would be any aspect of coercion or compulsion there.
"What?"
“I have no choice but to conform to you! I don’t want to conform!”
Ariadne was pouring out her anger, but even she was not satisfied. The anger she was spitting out now was just a side effect.
There was something else she really wanted to say.
'Why! Did you abandon me?
Why! Didn't you love me? Why was your price for love and devotion betrayal!
What was it that you didn't like so much! I did my best! Wasn't I that satisfying? Was I that... inadequate for you?'
In the end, it was something she couldn't tell him because he didn't know.
Ariadne turned her head away, unable to hold back her rising breath. Tears were forming in her eyes.
“Miss, don’t cry.”
Cesare gently soothed her. Even in this process, Cesare did not lose his gentleness.
A voice that seems to be comforting a child, a gentle expression, and an affectionate attitude.
“Are you upset? Are you really hurt?”
Ariadne felt her heart sink. His red lips moved beautifully and uttered sweet words.
How she once longed for it.
And even now, her heart was beating against her will.
Anger is 80%. But can she be certain that there is no remaining foolishness in the remaining 20%? No, isn't even anger a foolishness?
If she had really gotten over it, if she had completely forgotten him, she would have been able to laugh and move on calmly no matter what happened.
Cesare, unaware of her speed, took a step closer to Ariadne and spoke.
The voice was still soft like the fluff on the nape of a chick's neck.
“I’m sorry if I did anything wrong.”
And here Ariadne burst. The attitude Cesare displayed today was the attitude displayed when he was determined to get someone.
An attitude shown to someone important. For example, Isabella in her previous life. Infinite concessions, sacrifices, bending. Something he never showed to Ariadne in her previous life.
And she knew full well that it wasn't free.
Cesare was the kind of man who would always seek revenge for any humiliation he received.
If Ariadne could melt his heart and take Cesare's hand, she would definitely get what she paid for this consolation someday.
“What did I do wrong? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Cesare did nothing wrong in this life. That's true.
“If it is a mistake, then existence itself?”
But Ariadne wanted to drive a nail into his heart. She wanted him to cry as much as she did.
“I hate you. I hate that look in your eyes, that chin you hold up, I hate every single one of them!”
The saying, “If you know your enemy, you will win a hundred battles” is not only applicable to military strategy.
Ariadne knew Cesare inside out. She knew where he was most vulnerable, and where it would hurt the most to prick him.
“You can’t do anything with your own hands, yet you puff yourself up like a peacock and act all arrogant. Do you think people won’t notice? Everyone knows that you’re incompetent and have crawled up the ladder, so it’s painful to even talk about it! And the rope you’re holding onto is rotten! How long do you think your current prestige will last?”
She briefly thought she was crossing the line, but her reason had long since been lost.
Her tongue moved without control and on its own.
“I hate you. I hate the sight of you!”
This is the truth. Is this the truth?
Would it really be okay if Cesare never came to see her again, never cast his longing eyes on her? Wouldn't it hurt?
But that was okay. If I was afraid of him leaving me, I could have just left him first.
“Get out. Don’t show up in front of me again.”
If they never meet again, she will never be abandoned again.
Ariadne, who had said those words, stood up from her seat and left the drawing room without looking back.
Duke Cesare, speechless, stood blankly in the middle of the de Mare family's drawing room, staring blankly at the departing master.
It was a great disrespect for the host to leave the guest alone, but Cesare was okay with it. No, he don't know.
He wish he cried too.
After the day Duke Cesare was killed, Ariadne continued to stay locked in her bedroom.
She didn't wash, she didn't eat, and she didn't even know how to open the curtains on the window.
Bocanegro's Caruso representative is currently selling some of his grains on the market, and he has submitted a report saying that the profits are much greater than expected because grain prices have skyrocketed to historic levels, but Ariadne just skimmed through it. She have also banned him from visiting.
It was not that he feared the Duke of Pisano's retaliation.
Rather than saying that she was confident that she could win or endure, it would be more accurate to say that she just didn't think that far ahead.
She was now completely broken.
“My lady, the Gallico army has completely withdrawn from the border. The commander of the Montpellier cavalry also died on the way back.”
The news from outside that Sancha occasionally relayed could easily be confirmed by the new red spots that appeared on her hands.
“They say the Black Death is spreading in the Kingdom of Gallico as well. Along the path of the Knights Templar in Montpellier... I heard that King Philip IV is furious and has stationed the Knights Templar on the outskirts of Montpellier and is strictly prohibiting them from entering the city.”
In the past, the Black Death of 1123 stopped just beyond the fiefdom of Gaeta, the northernmost part of the Etruscan kingdom.
Because the plague did not cross the Prenoyak Mountains.
But this time, the plague was advancing northward, using Gallico's army as its vehicle.
Once they had crossed the mountains, there was no longer any need for the Knights of Montpellier, who were spreading like wildfire among the common people of Gallico.
Ariadne knew all this in advance.
The red spot crawled up the back of her hand, past her ring finger, and up her wrist and forearm.
Ariadne felt that if she were given a nickname, it would not be 'The Girl Who Sees Truth' or 'The Saint of the Rambouillet Asylum', but 'The Bloody Left Hand'.
“Miss, shall I call the doctor? Show me your left hand, and I wonder if the doctor can help you...”
“No need.”
“Then even your right hand...”
“Sancha. Please leave me alone.”
When Ariadne was left alone and her anger became uncontrollable, she lifted the question and struck her right hand.
A shimmering halo of light danced from the tip of her horribly mangled right hand.
The day the Gallico Kingdom's army began its retreat, the halo of light twinkled enthusiastically.
It seemed to have grown a little bigger than before. It was a contrast to her left hand, which was soaking wet with blood.
The day the Gallico army left the borders of the Etruscan kingdom, the halo was in full swing.
They burst like firecrackers, and sometimes they waved from fingertip to fingertip, as if celebrating the successful achievement of a goal.
The size itself was definitely bigger than before. When viewed from a distance, it looked like a saint from a holy painting.
It was so believable that she thought it was a description of Yesak's Gon baptizing Joseph of Latgalin.
But 1 plus -1 was not 0. Sin was not washed away by good deeds. It was still sin.
What's worse is that the blood on her left hand, which was the sin she committed, was visible to everyone, but the glow on her right hand, which was the result of her good deeds, was invisible to anyone.
An accomplishment known only to her, to herself. An honor she didn't even want.
The halo of light at the tip of his finger danced faintly once more. This was the sign that someone who had committed a sin—perhaps a big shot—had died.
The halo danced like this on the day the Knight Commander of Montpellier died.
Crunch!
Ariadne, enraged, picked up the question and struck the tip of her right hand again.
The 'golden rule' betrayed her.
The goal pursued by the 'golden rule' was not fair justice. Of course, there is no agreement on what justice is.
Here's a simple thought experiment.
There is a flood water course, and if left as is, a village will be flooded and 100 people will die, but if she break the dam, the water course will change and avoid the village.
Instead, it attacks a remote house where a family of five lives, killing them.
Is it justice to tear down the dam at this time, or is it justice to leave it as it is?
Ariadne would never have breached the dam if she had been given a choice.
It wasn't because she thought deeply about which of the two was justice. It was because it wasn't her business.
Her position was that she had no time to meddle in other people's business when she could barely save her own life. And it was true.
Although the de Mare family barely managed to secure a place in the family, this house would pass to Ippolito after the Cardinal's death.
And Ippolito, who became the head of the household, had the power to marry Ariadne as he pleased.
The second wife of an old nobleman with a 60-year age gap, the wife of a debaucher in the capital, or even confinement to a monastery. All are possible scenarios.
She should have covered herself up.
The blood-red left hand was an ugly thing. It was a disability. It was something that did not suit a person who was being put on the marriage market.
It was obvious what would happen if her left hand was discovered by Isabella, by Ippolito, or even by Cardinal de Mare.
For a moment, she thought that she was not just some society girl.
He made friends with Queen Marguerite, saved the Rambouillet relief home, and defeated the Gallico army, thinking that it was something more autonomous than a political marriage that was simply used as a chess piece for the family's profit and loss.
“A foolish illusion.”
But she was a bird in a cage. The limit was much closer than she thought. So close that she couldn't move.
If she doesn't get married and leave home within two or three years, her status and position will eventually be that of an old maid who is a headache to the family.
Boom!
She lifted the question and crushed her right hand again. The tips of her fingers became numb and the dried blood burst out again.
It was excruciatingly painful, but it was the kind of pain that reminded her of being alive rather than being painful.
“There’s no way I’ll have someone on my side in this world.”
There is no one who unconditionally takes her side, shows her the right path, and listens to her.
It was naive of her to think that a divine being would be any different. She couldn't stand her own stupidity and was so angry.
“There was no way everything could go smoothly like this.”
Boom!
Only the sounds of soliloquy and the pounding of dust echoed through the elegantly furnished western end of the de Mare mansion.
Ariadne's firm belief that she was alone was not true.
She had momentarily forgotten, but she had a mountain wagon that would follow her lady into hell.
Boom!
Sancha sat restlessly and circled around outside the room, hearing the sound of the door being lowered from inside the room.
She wanted to run in and cry and cling to the Lady to stop her, but she knew her stubborn Lady very well.
If she was a great woman who would have been told to do that, she wouldn't have come this far.
'Isn't there anyone who can help her....'
Normally, if a young lady of Ariadne's age was suffering, she would have informed her parents and asked for help, but Cardinal de Mare was not the right person for that. He was unsuitable in many ways.
His daughter was someone who fell from the sky.
Come to think of it, there were really only a handful of people who had a close relationship with her.
She had many people to look after, but there was no one who could look after her. Even if she were an orphan, she had a reliable social safety net.
'At least...'
Sancha thought of Lady Julia de Baldesar. Of all Ariadne's acquaintances, she was the one who could be called the closest to a 'friend'.
It would be presumptuous of her to go into detail about it.
Even if Sancha bring her, Lady Ariadne may say she doesn't want to see her.
But what if she met Lady Julia and they could go for a walk together or have a cup of tea? Sancha really wanted to drag Ariadne out of that room.
“Let’s write a letter.”
Sancha began to write the letters she had learned from Ariadne, each letter written squarely on the parchment.
The dot that started at the tip of the left ring finger gradually moved up the finger as Gallico's army advanced northward, and now the entire finger looked as if it was covered in blood.
“You’re so big, you look like you could hug a man. Your hair is so black, like a crow’s.”
Isabella's croaking voice rang in her ears.
She thought she had forgotten everything.
“Your breasts are so big and saggy that he thought you were a cow.”
Cesare is harsh on things that are not beautiful.
“He said that he felt like he had to protect a woman who was small like me and fit snugly in his arms.”
He had a pre-determined definition of 'perfection', and anything that deviated from it was mercilessly condemned. It was almost like condemnation.
Any deviation from Cesare's standards was a 'sin'.
If the ugliness was that bad, what if Cesare saw a physical disability that went beyond mere unattractiveness?
“Don’t you lay a finger on me!”
Ariadne roughly pulled her left hand out of his grasp as he tried to take off her glove.
“Don’t come any closer! Don’t even come near me!”
Cesare, startled by Ariadne's screams and loss of reason, called her name.
“Ari...”
But that only served to irritate Ariadne further.
“Who gave you permission to call me that?!”
She glared at Cesare with burning eyes.
He just looked at her in bewilderment, not knowing the source of her endless anger.
“I really hate it when you do whatever you want!”
Anger and resentment flowed from her green eyes.
“You come to me as you please and then leave when you feel like it! You throw away all your devotion, loyalty, and love! Your feelings are the most important to you!”
The Cesare in front of her was not the Cesare who had hurt her.
He is a different person from the one who used her for his own purposes, cut off her finger, and eventually abandoned her to meet Isabella.
She knew it in her head, but an uncontrollable anger burst out. It was anger that had been suppressed for a long time.
Once the critical point was crossed, the flood came and the dam burst, and it could no longer be held back.
“Why are you angry, Miss? Did I do something wrong?”
Cesare, embarrassed, began to gently soothe Ariadne. His voice was soft and sweet. This made Ariadne even angrier.
“Today too! Who would come here without permission?”
He asked back, dumbfounded.
“...It was you who readily accepted, wasn’t it?”
“The Duke of Pisano wishes to visit, but the gatekeeper of the de Mare family will beg you to turn back!”
Cesare never once thought about that. He walked wherever his feet took him and was welcomed everywhere.
After becoming a member of the de Carlo royal family and being awarded the title of Duke, he felt that the 'welcome' had grown a bit, but he just thought that was because people wanted to associate with him more.
He never even imagined that there would be any aspect of coercion or compulsion there.
"What?"
“I have no choice but to conform to you! I don’t want to conform!”
Ariadne was pouring out her anger, but even she was not satisfied. The anger she was spitting out now was just a side effect.
There was something else she really wanted to say.
'Why! Did you abandon me?
Why! Didn't you love me? Why was your price for love and devotion betrayal!
What was it that you didn't like so much! I did my best! Wasn't I that satisfying? Was I that... inadequate for you?'
In the end, it was something she couldn't tell him because he didn't know.
Ariadne turned her head away, unable to hold back her rising breath. Tears were forming in her eyes.
“Miss, don’t cry.”
Cesare gently soothed her. Even in this process, Cesare did not lose his gentleness.
A voice that seems to be comforting a child, a gentle expression, and an affectionate attitude.
“Are you upset? Are you really hurt?”
Ariadne felt her heart sink. His red lips moved beautifully and uttered sweet words.
How she once longed for it.
And even now, her heart was beating against her will.
Anger is 80%. But can she be certain that there is no remaining foolishness in the remaining 20%? No, isn't even anger a foolishness?
If she had really gotten over it, if she had completely forgotten him, she would have been able to laugh and move on calmly no matter what happened.
Cesare, unaware of her speed, took a step closer to Ariadne and spoke.
The voice was still soft like the fluff on the nape of a chick's neck.
“I’m sorry if I did anything wrong.”
And here Ariadne burst. The attitude Cesare displayed today was the attitude displayed when he was determined to get someone.
An attitude shown to someone important. For example, Isabella in her previous life. Infinite concessions, sacrifices, bending. Something he never showed to Ariadne in her previous life.
And she knew full well that it wasn't free.
Cesare was the kind of man who would always seek revenge for any humiliation he received.
If Ariadne could melt his heart and take Cesare's hand, she would definitely get what she paid for this consolation someday.
“What did I do wrong? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Cesare did nothing wrong in this life. That's true.
“If it is a mistake, then existence itself?”
But Ariadne wanted to drive a nail into his heart. She wanted him to cry as much as she did.
“I hate you. I hate that look in your eyes, that chin you hold up, I hate every single one of them!”
The saying, “If you know your enemy, you will win a hundred battles” is not only applicable to military strategy.
Ariadne knew Cesare inside out. She knew where he was most vulnerable, and where it would hurt the most to prick him.
“You can’t do anything with your own hands, yet you puff yourself up like a peacock and act all arrogant. Do you think people won’t notice? Everyone knows that you’re incompetent and have crawled up the ladder, so it’s painful to even talk about it! And the rope you’re holding onto is rotten! How long do you think your current prestige will last?”
She briefly thought she was crossing the line, but her reason had long since been lost.
Her tongue moved without control and on its own.
“I hate you. I hate the sight of you!”
This is the truth. Is this the truth?
Would it really be okay if Cesare never came to see her again, never cast his longing eyes on her? Wouldn't it hurt?
But that was okay. If I was afraid of him leaving me, I could have just left him first.
“Get out. Don’t show up in front of me again.”
If they never meet again, she will never be abandoned again.
Ariadne, who had said those words, stood up from her seat and left the drawing room without looking back.
Duke Cesare, speechless, stood blankly in the middle of the de Mare family's drawing room, staring blankly at the departing master.
It was a great disrespect for the host to leave the guest alone, but Cesare was okay with it. No, he don't know.
He wish he cried too.
***
After the day Duke Cesare was killed, Ariadne continued to stay locked in her bedroom.
She didn't wash, she didn't eat, and she didn't even know how to open the curtains on the window.
Bocanegro's Caruso representative is currently selling some of his grains on the market, and he has submitted a report saying that the profits are much greater than expected because grain prices have skyrocketed to historic levels, but Ariadne just skimmed through it. She have also banned him from visiting.
It was not that he feared the Duke of Pisano's retaliation.
Rather than saying that she was confident that she could win or endure, it would be more accurate to say that she just didn't think that far ahead.
She was now completely broken.
“My lady, the Gallico army has completely withdrawn from the border. The commander of the Montpellier cavalry also died on the way back.”
The news from outside that Sancha occasionally relayed could easily be confirmed by the new red spots that appeared on her hands.
“They say the Black Death is spreading in the Kingdom of Gallico as well. Along the path of the Knights Templar in Montpellier... I heard that King Philip IV is furious and has stationed the Knights Templar on the outskirts of Montpellier and is strictly prohibiting them from entering the city.”
In the past, the Black Death of 1123 stopped just beyond the fiefdom of Gaeta, the northernmost part of the Etruscan kingdom.
Because the plague did not cross the Prenoyak Mountains.
But this time, the plague was advancing northward, using Gallico's army as its vehicle.
Once they had crossed the mountains, there was no longer any need for the Knights of Montpellier, who were spreading like wildfire among the common people of Gallico.
Ariadne knew all this in advance.
The red spot crawled up the back of her hand, past her ring finger, and up her wrist and forearm.
Ariadne felt that if she were given a nickname, it would not be 'The Girl Who Sees Truth' or 'The Saint of the Rambouillet Asylum', but 'The Bloody Left Hand'.
“Miss, shall I call the doctor? Show me your left hand, and I wonder if the doctor can help you...”
“No need.”
“Then even your right hand...”
“Sancha. Please leave me alone.”
When Ariadne was left alone and her anger became uncontrollable, she lifted the question and struck her right hand.
A shimmering halo of light danced from the tip of her horribly mangled right hand.
The day the Gallico Kingdom's army began its retreat, the halo of light twinkled enthusiastically.
It seemed to have grown a little bigger than before. It was a contrast to her left hand, which was soaking wet with blood.
The day the Gallico army left the borders of the Etruscan kingdom, the halo was in full swing.
They burst like firecrackers, and sometimes they waved from fingertip to fingertip, as if celebrating the successful achievement of a goal.
The size itself was definitely bigger than before. When viewed from a distance, it looked like a saint from a holy painting.
It was so believable that she thought it was a description of Yesak's Gon baptizing Joseph of Latgalin.
But 1 plus -1 was not 0. Sin was not washed away by good deeds. It was still sin.
What's worse is that the blood on her left hand, which was the sin she committed, was visible to everyone, but the glow on her right hand, which was the result of her good deeds, was invisible to anyone.
An accomplishment known only to her, to herself. An honor she didn't even want.
The halo of light at the tip of his finger danced faintly once more. This was the sign that someone who had committed a sin—perhaps a big shot—had died.
The halo danced like this on the day the Knight Commander of Montpellier died.
Crunch!
Ariadne, enraged, picked up the question and struck the tip of her right hand again.
The 'golden rule' betrayed her.
The goal pursued by the 'golden rule' was not fair justice. Of course, there is no agreement on what justice is.
Here's a simple thought experiment.
There is a flood water course, and if left as is, a village will be flooded and 100 people will die, but if she break the dam, the water course will change and avoid the village.
Instead, it attacks a remote house where a family of five lives, killing them.
Is it justice to tear down the dam at this time, or is it justice to leave it as it is?
Ariadne would never have breached the dam if she had been given a choice.
It wasn't because she thought deeply about which of the two was justice. It was because it wasn't her business.
Her position was that she had no time to meddle in other people's business when she could barely save her own life. And it was true.
Although the de Mare family barely managed to secure a place in the family, this house would pass to Ippolito after the Cardinal's death.
And Ippolito, who became the head of the household, had the power to marry Ariadne as he pleased.
The second wife of an old nobleman with a 60-year age gap, the wife of a debaucher in the capital, or even confinement to a monastery. All are possible scenarios.
She should have covered herself up.
The blood-red left hand was an ugly thing. It was a disability. It was something that did not suit a person who was being put on the marriage market.
It was obvious what would happen if her left hand was discovered by Isabella, by Ippolito, or even by Cardinal de Mare.
For a moment, she thought that she was not just some society girl.
He made friends with Queen Marguerite, saved the Rambouillet relief home, and defeated the Gallico army, thinking that it was something more autonomous than a political marriage that was simply used as a chess piece for the family's profit and loss.
“A foolish illusion.”
But she was a bird in a cage. The limit was much closer than she thought. So close that she couldn't move.
If she doesn't get married and leave home within two or three years, her status and position will eventually be that of an old maid who is a headache to the family.
Boom!
She lifted the question and crushed her right hand again. The tips of her fingers became numb and the dried blood burst out again.
It was excruciatingly painful, but it was the kind of pain that reminded her of being alive rather than being painful.
“There’s no way I’ll have someone on my side in this world.”
There is no one who unconditionally takes her side, shows her the right path, and listens to her.
It was naive of her to think that a divine being would be any different. She couldn't stand her own stupidity and was so angry.
“There was no way everything could go smoothly like this.”
Boom!
Only the sounds of soliloquy and the pounding of dust echoed through the elegantly furnished western end of the de Mare mansion.
***
Ariadne's firm belief that she was alone was not true.
She had momentarily forgotten, but she had a mountain wagon that would follow her lady into hell.
Boom!
Sancha sat restlessly and circled around outside the room, hearing the sound of the door being lowered from inside the room.
She wanted to run in and cry and cling to the Lady to stop her, but she knew her stubborn Lady very well.
If she was a great woman who would have been told to do that, she wouldn't have come this far.
'Isn't there anyone who can help her....'
Normally, if a young lady of Ariadne's age was suffering, she would have informed her parents and asked for help, but Cardinal de Mare was not the right person for that. He was unsuitable in many ways.
His daughter was someone who fell from the sky.
Come to think of it, there were really only a handful of people who had a close relationship with her.
She had many people to look after, but there was no one who could look after her. Even if she were an orphan, she had a reliable social safety net.
'At least...'
Sancha thought of Lady Julia de Baldesar. Of all Ariadne's acquaintances, she was the one who could be called the closest to a 'friend'.
It would be presumptuous of her to go into detail about it.
Even if Sancha bring her, Lady Ariadne may say she doesn't want to see her.
But what if she met Lady Julia and they could go for a walk together or have a cup of tea? Sancha really wanted to drag Ariadne out of that room.
“Let’s write a letter.”
Sancha began to write the letters she had learned from Ariadne, each letter written squarely on the parchment.
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