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Summary
“You could come back,” Angela said, quietly, so low it might’ve been a hushed whisper. “Let me take care of you.”
Moira paused: she wished she could. The selkies in the sea begged her not to - for her not to go where they couldn’t reach, to where the witches brewing spells in their cast iron cauldrons couldn’t help her. But oh, how she wished; she wondered why Angela was so intent on rescuing whatever was left of her after she got overrun by the consequences of her acts.
Maybe it was love, she thought.
