AUTHOR'S POV
Ivy didn't question him. She didn't ask what shattered him, what memory clawed at his chest, what ghost had dragged tears out of a man who never let anyone see him bleed. She simply guided him to the chair beside the born fire, her hands careful, patient. He obeyed without resistance, like a child who trusted only one person left in the world. She handed him water. He shook his head. Not now. Not words. Not swallowing.
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To stay motivated, improve my writing, and continue expressing my thoughts and feelings through creative work.
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