Lucy savored the normalcy of the scene. Just my room. She would stare if she knew the full sum of Melusine’s activities. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds. She offers me no explanation, permits me absolutely no hope. She had begun alone. ‘I trust you are cursing Valade, and not Melusine.
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