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... shimmered with ghost-heat. Her own voice sounded small, almost childlike, as though it were a stranger’s attempt at comfort. The words bounced against crystal walls, came back thinner, offering little reassurance.
Outside the chamber a lone wind-chime tinkled—three delicate notes that faded too quickly. In their wake the silence pressed in, thick with the scent of crushed orchids from the garden below. She tasted sweetness on the air and realized it was the same subtle spice that had clu ...
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Postscript