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... phetic dreams were muted here. Instead of visceral things, as if she was living them out in the moment, her visions were simply like watching a recording crystal. They were far away from her, detached in perspective and tinted with grey light. The waking dreams, too, were kinder. They merely sent her good eye rolling for a moment; when she was a child, the bad ones had sent her to the floor, frothing at the mouth, and only cultivation and a lifetime of dealing with the visions had kept her face ...

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