adison demmon

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“Archer.” I stood as well, my gaze fixed down on his face. “Will you ever forgive me? Can you?” A cold expression covered his once-soft features. “Why do you even want my forgiveness? You made it perfectly clear years ago that you didn’t want anything to do with me.” In a whisper, I said, “I still think of you. I still dream of you.”
Arrows Through Archer
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