Rhea went down, screeching and clawing at the air for the sword, which clanked heavily on the ground. Go for it. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. No one had the resources or the inclination to rebuild them. “I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?.
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