I try my best to be just like i am. House of Rose, 9. I approached the fence around the garden, a simple one made from a waist-high row of crooked sticks and fuzzy rope woven about them. I leaned and peered over it. Inside it was an extremely crooked-branched tree with large, floppy, emerald leaves. Suspended from the branches were blown glass orbs, a variety of sizes and colors. The risen sun sparkled on their surfaces, making them look like gleaming jewels. Look out, I said, and hefted the chunk of roc.

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