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... bout the flames in my flesh, dancing like sprites. Swirling, eager mana, burning, burning. Too much. More and more, drawn to me, flames to the moth. Filling me. My blood, my bones.
Mine.
Mine, like the hole. Deep and endless. A frost-filled pit. Can’t remember…what was there before? In the hole?
Magic. Mana. A key. A core.
The words again. Strange voices, and familiar ones. “Delirium.” “Fever.” “Danger.” “Time.”
Time. A snapped thread, ...
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