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Summary
"Can the Honmoon look different?"
"Different how?"
"Less like threads of light, more like… pools of ink that drip from the ceiling?"
Celine put her book down with hesitation that spoke more of fear than confusion, eyes locking with hers before asking in a hushed tone if she'd seen this recently. A small 'no' slipped through her lips a little too quickly.
It wasn't a lie… not really.
