It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. They feasted every day and ate all sorts of fresh foods grown in the expansive gardens teeming with vegetables and fruits. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. ‘What was you wanting it for, may I ask?’ ‘You may not ask, for it is none of your affair,’ Melusine snapped.
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