Leanna's 2018 DragonCon Schedule!
(Mon, 20 Aug 2018)
IT'S NEARLY THE TIME FOR MADNESS ONCE MORE! Check out this UTTERLY AWESOME panel lineup!!!
I'm SUPER honored to be a part of Sherrilyn Kenyon's launch party! So exciting!
Please note, in particular, as always, Princess Alethea's Traveling Sideshow is never to be missed, you get tons of
goodies and the chance to procure amazing things! Also PLEASE NOTE my reading session on Saturday, I'll have books and jewelry available for sale and signing, I'll do a Q and A and ALSO, I'll be
previewing a NEVER BEFORE HEARD piece of fiction from my upcoming November release THE SPECTRAL CITY! I can't wait to share this book with my DragonCon family!
SEE YOU THERE!
Title: Sherrilyn Kenyon’s Stygian Masquerade Party!
Description: Demons & Daimons are on the loose and it's a night to be remembered! Come dressed to party and to
celebrate one of the most anticipated books of the year! #1 New York Times bestseller Sherrilyn Kenyon’s Stygian (Urian's book).
Time: Thu 07:00 pm Location: Regency VI-VII - Hyatt (Length: 4 Hours)
(Tentative Panelists: Sherrilyn Kenyon, Alethea Kontis, Leanna Renee Hieber, Mari Mancusi)
Title: Realms of the Dead: Ghosts and Spirits in UF
Description: Our panelists discuss the various types of ghosts and spirits found in their work, and in the
Time: Fri 11:30 am Location: Chastain 1-2 - Westin (Length: 1 Hour)
(Tentative Panelists: Leanna Renee Hieber, David B. Coe, E.J. Stevens, A. J. Hartley, Matthew Kressel, Gail Z.
Title: Victorian Death Customs
Description: Victorians raised mourning to a high art, with Queen Victoria modeling extreme grief and fueling an
industry built on mourning attire. Elaborate social customs dictated how one was supposed to behave after the death of close family. The discussion will center around mourning made creepy.
Time: Fri 05:30 pm Location: Augusta - Sheraton (Length: 1 Hour)
(Tentative Panelists: Gail Z. Martin, Leanna Renee Hieber)
Title: Princess Alethea's Traveling Sideshow
Description: Alethea Kontis and her misfit band of bestselling authors perform their hilarious annual variety
Time: Fri 07:00 pm Location: A707 - Marriott (Length: 2.5 Hours)
(Tentative Panelists: Alethea Kontis, Leanna Renee Hieber, Mari Mancusi, Diana Peterfreund, Gray Rinehart, Zac
Title: Reading Session: Leanna Renee Hieber
Time: Sat 02:30 pm Location: Vinings - Hyatt (Length: 1 Hour)
(Tentative Panelists: Leanna Renee Hieber)
Title: Her-storically Speaking
Description: Well-behaved women rarely make history, as they say. So we'll be talking about some of the women who made
waves, with a focus on pirates, vikings, and detectives. History professors, writers, and all-around smart ladies talk about the stories we may not have been taught in history books.
Time: Sat 07:00 pm Location: Athens - Sheraton (Length: 1 Hour)
(Tentative Panelists: Octavia Randolph, Jean Marie Ward, Leanna Renee Hieber, Nancy Holzner)
Title: Oops, I Sold My Novel. Now What?
Description: Selling your novel is Step One. Presenters will discuss what happens next. How do you make your first
novel the success you dreamed about?
Time: Sun 04:00 pm Location: Embassy CD - Hyatt (Length: 1 Hour)
(Tentative Panelists: John L. Flynn, Lucienne Diver, Leanna Renee Hieber, Michael J. Martinez, Scott Sigler, Jean
Title: The Secret History of Spies
Description: From the Culper Ring to M16, the secret organization of intelligence gathering and spies is a fascinating
topic for fact, historical fiction and alternate history. Our panel of authors will discuss and highlight some of the amazing facts and inspiration behind the art of espionage and
Time: Sun 07:00 pm Location: Athens - Sheraton (Length: 1 Hour)
(Tentative Panelists: Michael J. Martinez, S.M. Stirling, Walter H. Hunt, Austin Sirkin, Leanna Renee Hieber, David B.
Title: Same Places, Different Times: Historical Urban Fantasy
Description: Our panelists explore supernatural beings and magic occurring in historical real-world settings.
Time: Sun 08:30 pm Location: Chastain 1-2 - Westin (Length: 1 Hour)
(Tentative Panelists: David B. Coe, Laura Anne Gilman, Clay and Susan Griffith, Leanna Renee Hieber, E.J. Stevens, Tim
Title: Winding Down the Clock, A Time Travel Story Hour
Description: Round out your Con experience by joining the Alt History Track for a few good steampunk stories told by a
few of our favorite authors. They'll spin a long yarn and we'll wind down our Con experience swapping war stories.
Time: Mon 10:00 am Location: Athens - Sheraton (Length: 1 Hour)
(Tentative Panelists: Michael J. Martinez, Leanna Renee Hieber, Laura Anne Gilman, E.J. Stevens)
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Edward and Rose: An Edward Scissorhands Fan Fiction by Leanna Renee Hieber (Circa 1997)
(Mon, 23 Jul 2018)
Those of you who attend DragonCon may have heard me read from this little gem of teenage fan-fiction. I had promised FOR YEARS to make it available online and I only now rediscovered the file and
was able to open and convert it. So, as promised forever ago, here is my Edward Scissorhands, the epilogue:
Edward & Rose - An Edward Scissorhands Fan Fiction by Leanna Renee Hieber, written at the tender age of 18 (The now
multi-published and award winning author is now many years older but still loves this little tale, enjoy)
The window he stared out of was cracked, and frosted white-blue in the winter air. The attic was quite cold, of
course, in December, but he didn’t mind, for the open hole in the attic’s rooftop gave quite a lovely view of the midnight sky and was well worth the chill.
Snow had drifted in and settled in a
conical pile directly beneath the open lattice-work of rotting boards and splintered rafters. Sheets of ice lay in patches near the pyramid of snowflakes,
wide and fluffed hundreds of thousands, that had fallen silently all night, all day, without wind or breeze. Silent snow.
He left the window.
Occasionally, he would return to the
frosty window and stare, wide dark eyes surveying the expanse of snow-covered woodland sparsely speckled with leafless trees, appearing like veritable twigs from the height of his attic
Now and then he noticed animals scurry
from tree to tree, pattering across the white ground, birds flitting in and out of branches, disappearing in tufts of white-capped evergreens.
He liked the view over the
The opposite window looked out over
the town below.
He preferred the view over the
The woodland was peaceful.
The woodland did not remind
A large animal had scurried behind a
shrubbery earlier that day. He was curious what sort of creature it was. He wished for a second look at
it. He wished to sculpt it, and hoped he could catch a better view of it.
He had sculpted her a thousand
Many winters had passed since that
first shower of snowflakes, but the image of her remained as fresh, as vibrant, and as beloved as if that night were only yesterday.
The memories, at least, could not
He had waited many winters to see her
She did not come.
Perhaps she was old now.
He’d once scored marks upon the attic
wall, counting the winters, but he’d scratched it out with a rending sound of metal against hard plaster in a rather unpleasant bout of what he suspected was heartsickness.
But that was a while ago.
He continued to sculpt, not easily
It was dawn and he hadn’t seen the
strange creature scuttle by again.
The sun burst over the horizon in a
usurping ball of fire.
He pursed his lips.
While a bright sun was welcome, it
would ruin his art.
But at least it may make flowers grow,
he thought, and he rather enjoyed those.
He had been awaiting the winter
crocuses for a whole month.
The front lawn was speckled with them;
white, golden and royal purple; circling the large evergreen topiaries that were maintained in excellent care.
He descended the inordinately large
staircase that led down to the cavernous space that was the foyer of the castle that he solely inhabited. The gigantic arched door opened with a
resentful groan. Spiderwebs rustled in the subsequent flow of cool air. A pale face blinked
at the dawn, the subtle humming twitch of metal the only sound. He looked down at the bottom of the front steps expectantly.
No Crocuses. He pursed his lips again.
He stepped into the snow and moved to
the large topiary in the shape of a dancing, turning young lady whirling around at the center of his front lawn.
Still no Crocuses.
But there was a strange-looking
girl hiding behind the topiary with a mouth full of crocus petals.
The girl’s eyes were wide, pearlescent
white with bright, grass-green irises.
The girl gulped the crocus petals
Two very pale faces blinked at one
Two pairs of blank eyes registered a
sort of recognition, though they surely had never met.
The girl who had apparently ate all of
his crocuses was covered in a thick grey cloak that shrouded her trembling body. What could be seen of her face from beneath the shadow of her hood
appeared waxen white and tinted greenish, tiny scars the only slight blemish to a porcelain doll face.
“Do you have any more
flowers? I’m terribly sorry. I’m starving.” Said the girl, in a soft voice
with an accent foreign to his ears.
They blinked at one another through a
“I... I think you ate them
all.” He replied simply. The girl downcast her emerald eyes that were clearly not of the township’s making.
“Ah well.” The girl said ruefully, in that clipped, clarion speech of hers. Uneven shoulders shrugged. “Perhaps in the city?”
“Perhaps.” He replied, not used to speaking to someone in his front lawn, especially not someone who looked as if they may perhaps be one like him. A great while had passed since he had spoken at all. She didn’t look at him in shock or surprise and he found this quite refreshing.
“Ah.” Said the girl, shaking and appearing rather drawn. She turned and began to walk towards the path that led out to the gate far
below and out into the cul-de-sac and out into the town.
“I’m... I’m not sure I would... go
down... there if I were... you.” He hesitantly called to the cloaked girl.
The figure turned, and her hood fell
behind her to reveal thick tufts of flaxen-white hair interwoven with leaves and rose petals that fell in unkempt tendrils all about her frail shoulders.
“Why?” She asked.
“They...” He began, and lifted an arm, gesturing with a long blade. “They...don’t like people like us.”
“I see.” She replied, at a loss, and plopped down wearily in the snow like a rag doll.
A thought occurred to him.
“Oh. I may... have a Geranium that is still alive in the study...if you like...”
“Oh, very much, if it wouldn’t be too
much trouble.” She exclaimed, bounded to her feet and ran forward eagerly in jerking steps.
He turned and walked towards the open
He stopped at the threshold and turned
back to face his surprise visitor.
“Welcome to my home.” He stated in a polite monotone and turned, walking into the cool dark cavern of the foyer. His leather-like black suit and
tousled black hair almost made him disappear into the shadows, and the girl had to blink a few times in order to follow, following the sound of heavy footsteps and the slight rattle of
She lost sight of him through an
arched corridor across the empty floor.
She heard a slight rustle, and then,
by dim shafts of light that came through several open doorways and filtered down from a large staircase, she saw him return again with a potted plant that bore a few wilted crimson
She moved forward weakly, as if to
embrace the Geranium.
He shook his head.
“Follow me.” He said, his boyish voice ever gentle.
She did so, out of the cavernous foyer
into yet another vast room bearing a long, narrow table, centerpieced by an angled candelabra.
An elaborate, unlit lamp fixture
dangled and glittered in shades of grey from an arched ceiling.
A place was already set, as if waiting
for an undetermined visitor.
He set the Geranium near the white
china plate, leaned over and blew the dust off the setting.
He gestured for the girl to sit at the
head of the table, before the geranium and the plate.
She did so, staring up at him with
wide innocent emerald eyes.
A whirring noise was heard.
The blades and spikes and knives that
were the man’s hands clipped and snipped and trimmed and cut.
His hands returned to his
The Geranium and its blooms lay
organized artfully upon the plate. The plant itself remained stripped naked in its pot.
The girl breathed a sigh of great
admiration and delight.
He looked down at her and his purplish
lips slightly curved.
“What is your name?” She asked, as equally enamored by her chef as she was by her dinner.
“Edward.” He replied.
“I’m Rose.” The girl declared, and her there was a rustling in her lap.
A hand made entirely of vines and
sharp, thorny rose stems crept out from beneath her cloak.
“I’ve been made too.” She confessed softly.
She offered her hand out very
He cocked his head to the side and
looked nervously at his own hands and their edgy protrusions and looked then at the girl, expecting her to see the difficulty of a formal greeting. She
stared right back, fully aware of the difficulty she too possessed.
The girl placed her hand of twigs and
thorns and thin woven vines beneath the dull edge of a long blade and shook gently.
“Pleasure to meet you,
Edward.” She said sweetly. Blood red lips smiled. Purplish, boyish lips
twitched into a nervous smile in response and there was an exhale of breath that sounded somewhat like a pleased chuckle.
“And you, Rose.” Edward said, in his most refined demeanor, unaware that he had adopted her foreign accent.
Rose giggled. Her hands returned to her lap. Edward looked down at the plate and nodded, and scurried to take his place across the long
Rose removed her cloak, revealing a
pure black dress, made of a thick burlap fabric, corseted and fitted to a slender body frame, and trimmed with dark red ruffles. She was picturesque; all
porcelain doll and flaxen flower-tangled hair, folds of black burlap and thorn ridden hands.
Edward sat, not taking his eyes off
Rose plucked the crimson napkin near
her plate with one thorny finger and lay it across her lap.
Edward skewered his absently with a
knifepoint and lay it across his lap. His plate was bare, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Aren’t you having
anything?” Rose asked, somewhat embarrassed that she was so ravenously staring at the artfully arranged bouquet of blossom and greenery upon her
Edward shook his head and nodded for
her to begin eating.
She did so, eagerly, and soon the
gourmet prepared geraniums had been inhaled and gulped with only a few crisp chewing sounds.
“Thank you, Edward.” She said, with most sincere gratefulness.
“I... I don’t like Geraniums
anyway.” He stated.
“What about Crocuses?” She asked meekly.
“I do like those.” He replied.
“I’m sorry.” She cringed. He blinked.
“They’ll grow again.” Edward responded matter-of-factly, which was often his way. “Why is your voice... different?” He asked simply.
“Oh.” Rose laughed, a sweet, little-girl sound. “My Mistress lived in England, before she came to this country.”
“And...you... live...” He began quietly, a long scissor blade indicating towards the direction of the town.
“Oh no, the next town
over.” Rose replied brightly. “In that castle upon the top of thathill.” She pointed westward. “Mum said every town needed a mad inventor of sorts, and that town seemed to be lacking one, so she
moved in. I was made a year later.”
Edward looked very impressed.
“Another mad inventor-”
“A mad botanist.” Rose clarified.
“And yours?” She asked politely.
Edward looked at the floor.
“He had lots of machines. I’m not finished.” He replied quietly, and held up his fists of shears and fingers of blades.
“Mum said she didn’t want to finish
me. Mum said I was just perfect, thorns and all. Why would I want to be like all the rest, anyhow?” Rose declared proudly. Edward continued to look at the floor.
“There are some people it would be...
worth it...for. To be...finished...I mean. Normal.”
Rose blinked at him, white-petal-like
lids closing and opening. “Why?”
“S-so you wouldn’t scare
“Who did you scare?” Rose asked.
“Everyone.” He replied softly, turning to gaze in the town’s general direction.
“Everyone?” She pressed.
“Well...except for one.” He said hastily, and rose from the table. His crimson napkin had become attached to one of the lower blades and he did not
Rose smirked and said nothing, as
Edward seemed clearly enrapt in something.
He left the room, a sound of clomping
heels and clicking metal.
Up the long flight of stairs.
To an attic.
Rose gasped. Ice sculptures. A slew of them, in frozen waltzes across the attic floor. People,
frozen in play, in contemplation. A girl twirling, enrapt; several of this particular theme.
“Oh Edward.” Rose sighed, appreciatively.
Edward stood near one wall of the
attic, plastered with old, yellowed, weathered newspaper clippings.
One was an engagement
announcement. Edward had a knifepoint held at the top of the article.
The girl pictured was lovely, blonde,
with big dark eyes just as soft and gentle as Edward’s, standing with a rugged young man.
Suddenly he drew the blade along the
article and it split, wrinkled and tore beneath its edge. The pictured couple separated into two halves and fell to the floor. Edward poked the picture of the girl deftly with one point and returned it to the wall. The other half of the picture remained
upon the floor.
Rose said nothing, only watched
intently as Edward shuffled with heavy steps over to the window and looked out at the town below. His plain, smooth white brow was furrowed.
“Why did... you come
here?” Edward asked, staring out at the cookie cutter suburb below.
“I smelled the flowers. The crocuses.” She began apologetically. “Mum died a few years ago. There was no one to keep up the greenhouse. I did the best I could. But I had to eat,
I couldn’t help it, and soon there was nothing left.” Rose shrugged and made a face. “Not even any
fertilizer.” She paused. “I had no choice but to scavenge. I am
“Don’t be. Just... don’t go there.” Edward stated, a little ringing sound of a metal blade against glass, pointing at the houses
“They won’t like me
there?” She asked naively.
Edward stared ahead of him.
“It’s just a different
world.” He replied.
“But our gardener was so
nice. He was one of them.” Rose insisted. A very silent pause.
“So was she.” Edward glanced at the wall of clippings.
“I was in love with him. Our gardener.” Rose declared.
“Allergic to pollen.”
“Do you miss her?” Rose asked.
“Do you miss him?” He returned.
The two stared at the city.
“Company. That’s all I really miss.” She replied earnestly.
“Yes.” He agreed, after a long silence. “Yes.” He agreed again, more convincingly.
He moved to one of the sculptures
behind him and watched the edges drip slowly. A whirring sound of metal upon ice. Ice flakes flew out behind a
slender form. Rose moved forward and let the fall upon her face. She closed her eyes and felt things stirring deep
within her. An amorphous human form was transformed into a vase of roses.
“Bravo!” She cried, realizing that she hadn’t heard such a delighted sound escape from her lips in quite some time. She applauded as
best she could, thorns to thorns.
Edward appeared relatively pleased, as
much as his stoic face seemed to allow.
Snow began to fall again.
The two sat upon the floor craning
their pale faces towards the hole in the roof and stared at the open sky, watching snowflakes with patient admiration. Edward still did not seem to notice
the napkin that clung to one of the tips of his blades and Rose said nothing.
Perhaps a couple of hours
Time was a suburbian
convention. It did not currently apply.
“What are you to do?” Edward asked finally.
“Starve I suppose.” She replied matter of factly.
“Wish I had a greenhouse.” Edward stated.
“How sweet of you.” Rose murmured, roses upon her cheeks.
Edward appeared to smile
“Am I...sweet?” He asked meekly, staring at her feet. His shears clicked anxiously.
“Very.” Rose smiled shyly, blinking at him with her sparkling emerald gaze.
She felt something stirring near her
Such a sensation was
A thorny thumb and forefinger fished
behind burlap and stays. She cocked her head to the side, winced, and a tiny snap was heard.
From her corset she procured a small,
fresh white rose tipped with scarlet.
She stared at the flower
Looking up at Edward, she grinned,
blood-red lips a thin, sloping semicircle.
She offered the rose to him
He shook his head as if he wouldn’t
dare accept the gift.
She held it out,
insisting. He did not move.
Rose crawled forward and placed the
stem in one of the buckles of his leather suit. He looked to the side, bashfully. She craned her neck upside down
to look into his downcast eyes.
“I haven’t grown in quite a
while.” She whispered excitedly, and blood-red rose-petal lips kissed him upon the nose.
She flopped back on the floor with a
contented sigh and stared up at the afternoon sky.
Edward responded in turn, flopping
noisily upon his back, spread eagled.
They stared at the sky and watched
clouds become shapes and fancies.
She occasionally itched her
Finally she sat up.
“Oh dear.” She stated blandly.
Edward sat up in one fluid
She pulled back the thick black burlap
of her sleeve that covered her wrist. Green fronds popped out from beneath the fabric. She sighed.
“I was afraid of that.”
Edward leaned forward. One hand carefully came near her.
With a few deft flicks of scissors,
wielded with great flair, the green shafts had fallen to the floor and Rose’s wrist was most perfectly trimmed.
The two stared at one
another. Edward flashed a tiny, pleased smile. Rose giggled a most pleasantly surprised and quite affectionate
He leaned back upon both fistfuls of
shears and it was then that he noticed that his crimson napkin was attached to one of his blades and he attempted to remove it with his other set. However,
in a whir of scissor sounds, he managed to create an unfolding string of hearts out of the cloth rather than depositing it upon the floor. He looked down
at his inadvertent valentine and a look crossed over his blank face that was perhaps consternation, or bashfulness.
Rose again clapped thorny hands
together in delight.
The stars burst forth.
They watched them.
They were not afraid of
Silence was familiar. Company was comfort.
Edward sat up again suddenly.
“I have an idea.”
“Yes?” Rose said dreamily.
“Come.” He said, rising to his feet.
Rose obeyed, and followed
She followed him down the steps,
through the foyer, out the front door, and down the path towards the front gate, towards The Street.
“Edward...” Rose said cautiously.
He stopped by the gate and
turned. He gestured for her to catch up.
“But...” She hesitated, standing at his side, nervously indicating the city that loomed before them.
“Do you ... think... I’m...
“perfect”...bladesand... all?” He asked gently, innocent honesty mixed with worldly anxiety, while his pale face remained rather emotionless.
Rose felt that stirring deep within
A wide smile. Rose skipped down the path to the gate. She slid her arm into Edward’s and nodded, a sufficient reply to his inquiry.
“Well then....” He stated, and led Rose out onto The Street.
They stood, arm in arm, staring at
Suburb for a long while. Eerie, as always.
It was dark now.
“Where are we going?” She asked, giddily.
They walked to the nearest
A wreath of poinsettias hung upon the
A whirring sound commenced and in a
few moments the wreath was devoid of scarlet leaves and all that remained was an artfully sculpted ring where the greenery had been. He offered a fistful
of poinsettia to Rose, who giggled and danced a hitching little dance of delight, and accepted the pieces of plant.
Over the course of the evening, all
the poinsettias from suburban front door Christmas wreaths accumulated in the folds of Rose’s skirt.
They passed one particular
house. It looked like any other house. There was a Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, just like every
Edward’s innocent demeanor
Edward stood at the mailbox,
thoughtfully, for quite some time.
Rose placed a thorny hand gently upon
his shoulder, soft enough to not mar his suit.
Wide, dark eyes stared into wide green
Silence said everything. These two knew silence intimately.
Two solitary tears rolled down two
“Time to go home?” Rose asked quietly, sweetly. She wished to touch his cheek, but she’d made that mistake one too many times upon her own, as,
judging from the similar scars upon Edward’s face, he had as well.
He turned wearily.
He began to shuffle off down The
Rose watched him go.
He got to the end of the street, heavy
tread and metallic pings.
Rose felt something wither inside her
and she mustered all of her energy for one fervent request that would have been most likely construed as a prayer.
Edward realized that Rose had not
His scissors clicked in a sudden
He whirled around.
She stood staring at the other end of
The Street, crimson poinsettia leaves trickling from her dress.
The street echoed with their innocent
Edward pointed a long, knifed finger
up the hill to his home. It was very clear to him what he was to ask, yet he still paused nervously, staring blankly at the figure at the end of The Street
that just may make the silences more bearable, and company a comfort.
“There will be crocuses again soon,
Rose... If you’ll be patient... Lilies, and... irises, too... Will you come... home... Rose?”
Rose scooped up her skirt and ran in
an uneven gallop up The Street, a ringing laugh taking flight into the air.
A kiss occurred then, at the threshold
of two worlds.
A sweet kiss. A long awaited and beautiful merge.
Thorns touched blades.
Those nestled in suburban beds may not
Those trapped by suburban confines may
not have appreciated.
It never was their fairy tale to begin
They had meddled.
Fairy tales are best left to their own
Much gossip occurred when a
construction truck arrived at the end of The Street, and a glittering greenhouse was erected at the top of the hill.
One wrinkled, haggard face watched
from a window with great interest as the greenhouse had been erected, and laughed quietly when her neighbors exclaimed that their wreaths had been trimmed clear off.
A bouquet of two dozen lush red roses
appeared one morning on her doorstep, with a note.
“Much love, Edward and Rose”
Tears rolled down an old woman’s face.
It began to snow.
The old woman walked outside and
whirled around slowly beneath the flakes, and silently thanked the forces that create fairy tales that her one wish had been granted.
Do you like this little fan fiction? Then I bet you'll LOVE my original novels!
Please support my work! The Strangely Beautiful saga, the Magic Most Foul trilogy, and the Eterna Files trilogy are available wherever books are sold! And I have two new novels available for Pre-Order: THE SPECTRAL CITY (Imagine the show "Medium" meets "The Alienist") and MISS VIOLET AND THE GREAT WAR (The long-awaited Strangely Beautiful finale)
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Cheers and happy haunting!
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