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Weekly Contest #319
Staring at the cavernous walls of the bathing chamber, Solenne prayed the shadows wouldn’t dance. She hadn’t made them move in weeks, and she clung to that fragile hope. She monitored the pooling darkness on the sandstone of the temple, clenching her fists until her nails dug into her skin. Her skin boiled as masked, dark—clad priestesses scrubbed her raw with water touched by first light, their sponges bumping against sore scars. The bath would cleanse her. She was Thessaron’s chosen, after all. The Burning God had branded her upon birth, h...
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