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Summary
The wane light spilling from the top of the Lighthouse illuminated him through the gloomy atmosphere as he reached out, palm up, until the hand’s own palm hovered over his.
“Good evening,” Flins said, employing his best of voices, silky and pleasantly soft in ways it hadn’t been in oh so very long. “May I inquire about your visit tonight?”
Series
- Part 3 of To what shall I compare this life?
