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The first thing I feel is the cold. Not the searing agony of the Marks carving themselves into my soul and flesh, no, that's already settled into something deeper, something that won't fade.

What I feel it the actual cold air against my skin, sharp and biting, because the top half of my robe is gone, burned away by whatever divine force decided to brand me like its prized animal.

I flex my fingers, clenching and unclenching my fists, and even that feels different. My body is ...

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