Rhea went down, screeching and clawing at the air for the sword, which clanked heavily on the ground. ‘Yes, but quite my own fault. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her.
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