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There’s a foreign blood pumping through his veins, calling out to him in the heavy silence, turning his once warm hands to ice. He wonders if the others can hear it, that harrowingly loud, screaming rush, that withholds sleep from him and chases his every waking moment; no amount of meditation could satiate it, that cloying weight that never ceased.
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Or, Zhuo Yichen has trouble reconciling his past nature with his present.
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Soooo.... I finally mustered up the time to finish this little fic!