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... tongue tasted of bile and cheap liquor.
He drew in air, and it scratched on the way down. When he opened his eyes, he went still.
The bed was not his. The room was not his. Thick curtains hung in gaudy folds, heavy enough to smother daylight.
A chandelier sprawled above him like a jeweled spider, all glass and gold. Even the air smelled perfumed and clean.
His head throbbed. Not just pain. Pressure. As if someone had wedged a second skull inside his own and it was ...
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