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... sweat cools the fever, but my head still burns. My veins feel clogged, my pulse relentless, like my body is waging war against itself. I think like this every night, every blistering afternoon. Now, the golden moon spills its glow through the cracks, and I press my palm to my forehead.
My breath is shallow, and I turn to my right—too quickly—and the lack of balance betrays me. I collapse straight into the puddle of vomit I brought up minutes earlier.
It steams faintly under the c ...
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