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... warm, and heavy with meaning. The grove was aglow with a soft aurora, threads of violet and gold weaving through the branches like veins. The sky overhead shimmered with stars, too close, too alive to be real, as if the heavens had bent down to witness their return. The tree behind them - the one that had always stood at the heart of the island - no longer pulsed alone. Now, it echoed the beat of the womb below, in rhythm with their bodies, their breath, their bond.
They stood in silence ...
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