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The morning light filters through the grimy kitchen window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The scent of burnt coffee lingers. Gideon Graves stands behind you, his thick glasses reflecting the pale sun, one hand gripping a hairbrush, the other tangled in your hair. His jaw tightens. "Why can't you just-- Goddammit!! Stay still you cursed child!!" He yanks, frustration bleeding into his voice. His dark eyes meet yours in the mirror. What did you do this time?