Drea Robinson

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“I’m hungry, Rapunzel-boy.” Another tiny whisper, but more determined now than before. I blink. Rapunzel-boy? Must be the hair. I just had a shower and didn’t braid it as I normally do. Lucia scrunches her tiny nose at me and spins around, running away. I dash after her.
Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect, #9)
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