He's a king, but you're still a witch. It's still everyone shouting and beating, and everyone is afraid of you. You look at him handsome, sassy, suave, suave, and proud to ascend to the throne, and you look at yourself, and you can only sneak a sneak peek at him with a cloak and a cloak. Don't you feel pain in your heart? You start to remember that at that time he was still a bastard, the last of Qingping, and the hair of the fly. You walked out of your high mage tower without saying goodbye, forgetting that you were once a little witch, like a young college freshman entering the society, struggling to walk, help him find men, help him kill enemies, help him go to the dark place to exercise, Help him pick up the holy sword. You said, "You may die if you go to the dark place." You hurriedly said, "Stay with me." Stupid George can see what you mean. He became king and he failed to think of you. He built a big table all day and said he would not forget his old brother. He forgot you, forgot your crow, eagle, boa constrictor. Let's go, witch, the round table doesn't have your share, what about the queen. Put on your green cloak, mount your burgundy horse, and take your crow, eagle, and boa constrictor. He's a king, you're still a witch.
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