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Weekly Contest #353
The funeral procession wound like a slithering black snake up the path of the Qixing mountain. Helena walked in front with her mother, the casket of her little brother between them. It weighed almost nothing – a fact Helena was almost grateful for as they treaded, silent and slow, underneath the hot Taipei sun. They were blissfully far enough from the coastline that the sound of the frothing waves receded to nothing but a gentle hum; yet still, still – Helena felt the malice of the sea demon. Its ire was in the silt that stirred at their fee...
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