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Summary
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Robin hesitates, Sunday can hear her shuffling her feet from behind the door. She is not good at lying. She has never been. Sunday closes his eyes and stays on the floor, biting the inside of his cheek until he has his tongue filled with the familiar metallic taste of his own blood. He’s doing this for her, he keeps repeating. He’s doing it for her, so she won’t have to see the inside of this room, and feel the Dreammaster’s breath on her lilac wings.
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