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13th November 1873

. .  .

It was the king, weak and frail, dragging his feet, walking on the tiles of the corridor.

His face was scarred and bruised, his clothes drenched in blood.

He sat beside the pillar, while the queen came running to him, squeaking and screaming,

"Where is Ana?

Did you go to play with her right?

Where is she?

What happened to you?

Why the bruises all over?".

The king was breathing heavily, his cuts were deeper and his bruises were wider, he was terribly hurt, he could barely speak, "The devil. . .".

He had just said this that the queen screamed in disbelief,

"NOOOOOOO. . .

What with the devil?

Where is she?

Tell me!".

He sighed deeply as he put his hand on her cheek,

"The devil attacked her, I tried hard to save her.

The devil was way too stronger for me to encounter.

They hurt her badly.

She couldn't sustain the injuries . . ", he had said this that
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