Bodies were piled high in the streets, Sebastian went on rounds and would come back late at night, reporting horrors and robberies, death that came within hours, not days. I don’t defend it. ‘I am nine-and-twenty,’ he answered. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. Yes. He seemed so clean anyway, his fair 215 skin, his light brown hair, there almost seemed to be no point.
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