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... y, flanked by flowerbeds that hadn't bloomed in months. The walls were old, but clean. No rot. No dust. Someone had been tending to it.
Inside, it smelled of old incense and polished wood.
Light spilt through the tall windows in golden beams. Not holy light. Just sunlight fractured through the glass.
Erina stood at the front.
Not preaching.
Speaking.
She spoke of community, of protection, of adapting. Her voice was soft but sure, each word stitched ...
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