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... ded a voice.
Another memory.
Adalia’s shadow sat still and hunched, illuminated by the flicker of candlelight by the bedside. The blank void of her face permeated to be a pondering one, an apathetic one, the way she so callously regarded the lifeless corpse inches away from her bare feet.
With a flare of breath, she nudged the dead woman’s forehead with the tip of her toes.
“Who is this?”
“A wanderer,” Amelia’s voice rang impatiently. “Not of this village. ...
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