The moon was red that night when you found him under the silver tree, blood on his shirt. “You’re the thief,” you said. He looked up. “That’s what they’re calling me?” “Why’d you take the crystal?” you asked. “It never belonged here,” he said. “You’ll die out here.” He gave a weak smile. “Lucky me, a princess found me.” You looked back toward the palace. “If I help you, I betray the crown.” “Then help me for the truth,” he said.
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