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Summary
"Tell me Alecto,” and if Alecto didn’t know better she might have thought that Zagreus was pleading, “what is passion?”
“Passion, redblood?” On her lips was struggling the beginning of a weak grin. “Is that what your heart craves to know? To understand?” The grin faltered, giving its place to a careful and barely noticeable smile. “You needn’t any explanation or demonstration. Passion, Zagreus... it is... you.”
