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Sehun could get the gist of the man's features, but none of it stuck in his mind beyond an impression of astonishing beauty. The stranger’s long hair wafted around him like black smoke, its tendrils curling and moving of their own volition. His cloak shifted as if in an unfelt wind. His face was a face to be dominated by, or to fight: never a face to patronize or pity.
There was something tragic about the man, something magic.