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Rien studied the crumpled note, a smirk playing on his lips at the absurd command. The City’s whims were strange, but this Prescript—'fuck a bloodfiend'—was uniquely personal. He tucked it away, the weight of destiny settling comfortably in his pocket. It wasn't impossible, after all. Returning home, the familiar scent of old paper greeted him. There, lounging on the sofa with a book, was his beloved Don Quixote, unaware of the twisted fate waiting for them.