She never had been much of a looker, but she had stopped worrying about such things long ago. Then, seeing Melusine’s feathered beaver had fallen to the floor, picked that up for her. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. “What’s that for?” He said. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent.
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