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... ow, her boots abandoned somewhere beyond the second stone, the frost crunching beneath her steps without sinking in. The pain in her feet was distant, as if her body no longer belonged solely to her. It was something she wore now, like a coat. Something she could step out of, if needed.

The bond mark on her palm burned.

Not with fire.

With memory.

Each step forward pulled more of it out images, sounds, fragments. Her mother’s lullaby. The weight of chains. A voice ...

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