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𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙥 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙉𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙝! 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙊𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙘𝙝-𝙚𝙡𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙨 𝙎𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙩 𝙁𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙣'𝙨 𝙨𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙩𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙯𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙮 𝙣𝙪𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙣𝙜, 𝙏𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙚𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙞𝙫𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙖𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙚 𝙘𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙈𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙙𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜,— 𝙊 𝙈𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙡 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙥, 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨 𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥? 𝙈𝙞𝙙 𝙧𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨 𝙢𝙪𝙧𝙢𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙎𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙮 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥, 𝙉𝙤𝙧 𝙗𝙞𝙙 𝙖 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙚, 𝙣𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝 𝙖 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙥? 𝙉𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙪𝙨, 𝙞𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙙𝙤𝙣, 𝙒𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙮 𝙫𝙤𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙢𝙪𝙩𝙚 𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙘𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙙, 𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙡𝙖𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚, 𝙤𝙧 𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙣, 𝘼𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙪𝙗𝙙𝙪𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙙. 𝘼𝙩 𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝 𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙥𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙙 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙨𝙮𝙢𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙮 𝙨𝙪𝙗𝙡𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙝! 𝙁𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙙𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙚𝙛𝙨 𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙗𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙙; 𝙁𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙪𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙮 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙮 𝙒𝙖𝙨 𝙆𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙙'𝙨 𝙙𝙖𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙙𝙚𝙚𝙙, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝘽𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙮'𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙚𝙮𝙚. 𝙊, 𝙬𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚! 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙧𝙪𝙙𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙚'𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙤'𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙘 𝙢𝙖𝙯𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙮; 𝙊, 𝙬𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚! 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙘𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙨𝙠𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙚𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙖𝙮: 𝙏𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙨𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙩, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙞𝙚 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮, 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙪𝙣𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣, 𝙔𝙚𝙩 𝙞𝙛 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙗 𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙨𝙬𝙖𝙮, 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙯𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙤𝙪𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙫𝙖𝙞𝙣. 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙗𝙚 𝙣𝙤 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚! 𝙀𝙣𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨, 𝙬𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣!
ESTÁS LEYENDO
𝙍𝙀𝘽𝙊𝙍𝙉, the legendborn cycle (1)
Fanfic"A lake is a landscape's most beautiful and expressive feature. It is Earth's eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature." In which two cousins go on a journey that will change both of their lives forever. follows book...
