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Chapter 11: Queens and Their Obedient Ants

A purple sun is projected over dull, crimson waters, murmurs of shouts clamoring to leave the skyline. A palace-like shadow lays at the edge of the lake, the shade of the evening. Genuine dread is in the air, blended in with dread, torment, and yearning.

A man walks forward and backward in a soiled room, murmuring words that ought not to be rehashed. Shelves stretch across each wall, a solitary entryway making the main hole. Delicate seats however delicate as silk seem to be lying about, and a minute foot stool is set in everything. Just a single other individual is in the room, listening mindfully to each sentence he lets out after a series of swear words.

"I can't completely accept that this has happened..." the man, face obscure, goes to his friend, "I committed an enormous error."

"No one's perfect," the marginally silver-haired, squat man the size of a midget, couldn't care less about his issue. Be that as it may, the tall man with a hidden face is extremely distressed.

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