Rhea went down, screeching and clawing at the air for the sword, which clanked heavily on the ground. ‘Melusine…Melusine. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony.
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