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The only respite Meira has from her illness is writing in her journal and remembering Eorwulf. Or is he merely someone her imagination has conjured? She scribes every brush of his lips on hers, every touch of his hands. He knows her secrets and promises to take her away from all the pain. As Meira writes in her journal, the ink staining her fingers, it brings her closer and closer to Eorwulf.
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