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Chapter 50Book 2: : The Belly of the Beast
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... tea," her father often remarked. She peered into her cup, remembering the girl that had searched for answers within the warm brown liquid. Answers that had remained elusive until this day. She idly traced the rim of the small vessel, releasing a sigh that had worn thin from years of repetition.
In moments like these, she could not help but liken her past self to the delicate porcelain cup. How was it that something so inherently beautiful could also be so fragile? Each tiny vessel was a ...
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