She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. ’ ‘And you believe her?’ asked Lucilla, raising her brows. “You haven’t seen him in three hundred years?” He asked. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor.
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