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The material of the Knight’s gloves was slippery to Gin’s petal flats, and she tore a small bit of her dress. Gin sighed, but straightened and pushed her too-long hair out of her face. She picked the torn piece up and twisted it around, then reached her hands into the lock and started to work.

“What’s your name, knight?” Gin asked from inside the lock, her legs dangling a small bit above the Knight’s hand.