I tried. Martin said “Hi” to her in the halls every day now, a sure sign of trouble. ’ Melusine might have responded that she had not asked him, but she was too intent on her mission. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. She was faint from hunger, her head spinning into dizziness, the blood madness readying for battle. One point in her narrative stood out beyond all others. My husband, he is cruel and wicked, and—and entirely undistinguished.
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