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... g>
After having a nice, long bath, with Zeraphira washing my hair far too attentively for comfort, I finally sank back against the steaming marble edge. The scent of black rose and sandalwood clung to the air — courtesy of whatever overly romantic concoction she’d picked out.
Zeraphira sat beside me, her knees drawn close, chin resting on them, red eyes half-lidded. "Darling looks peaceful," she murmured.
"More like exhausted," I muttered, letting the warmth lull my mind. ...
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