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... eaves with a rhythm that matched their heartbeats. The golden glow of the spiral had softened into a warm, pulsing hush beneath them, no longer demanding, but present - like a memory held close to the skin.
Jude stood at the center of the mossy clearing, his twelve wives encircling him, their bodies draped in loose wraps of silk and fronds, hair kissed by pollen, skin still aglow from the union they had shared. Around them, the forest waited. Not silent, not ominous - just patient.
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