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The twenty-year-old Marjora aged about fifty years in the space of fifteen seconds. She clutched at her chest, terrified, as she felt more and more frail by the moment. Her eyes became clouded, her hair thin and pure white. Clumps of it came out into her withered hands. Wrinkles abounded as her skin sagged all over her body. Her figure became, well, less impressive. Her eyesight suddenly worsened dramatically and she bent over involuntarily as her back began hurting fiercely, along with most of her joints. She instinctively reached out towards Pheldris, looking for support, as she feared she was about to fall. He did not stop her. She stood braced against him, panting in both exertion and panic. Finally, her mind grew cloudy as well. <?P>She straightened up slightly. A moment ago, she had felt something was very wrong, but could no longer quite recall what.
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