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They weren’t measured in seasons or moons.
They were measured in cycles of turned soil, in silences that weighed like rocks, in the way bodies no longer responded the same.
The biome remained just as red.
But Virka no longer did.
The change was not sudden.
It was progressive, almost imperceptible... as if her human form had matured through memory, instinct, and necessity.
Now she was twelve years old.
But her body was slowly and natur ...
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