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“My hand! She� she cut off my� hand!� “I’m coming for your fucking head next,� I seethed.
“Because she is moonlight. The mist that shrouds the mountains. The bite of electricity in the air before a storm. The smoke that rolls across a battlefield before the killing starts. You have no idea what she is. What she could be. You should call her Majesty.�
And sometimes, that’s just how things were supposed to be. There were moments that were gifts, meant to be cherished only for as long as you could remember them.
