9:27 Dragon, Early Spring

To say that Corbinian and Samantha were standing in a darkened corner of the Circle library was a bit of a misnomer, because every corner was dark. They were waiting. They had been waiting for half an hour. The pair found it much easier to arrange this visit, because the Grand Cleric had recently left Starkhaven with her entourage to attend the Ten Year Gathering in Orlais.

Held at the beginning of spring, the Ten Year Gathering was a meeting where every Grand Cleric from every major city made a pilgrimage to the White Divine's Spire in Orlais to meet about current issues facing the Chantry, and no less than five hundred of Starkhaven's citizens joined as pilgrims. One of those citizens just so happened to be the Knight Commander of Starkhaven.

With a quieter Chantry and Templar Order, Corbinian had found it much easier to bypass the layers of bureaucracy and suddenly the Vael name had weight again. Admittedly, neither Corbinian or Samantha knew anything about the inner workings of the Circle, nor about their fraternities or politics. So, when Corbinian learned that Innley was going to be released back into the general population, his natural reaction was to ask why. The ensuing answers were all rather confusing.

Some elaborate ritual exorcism had taken the place of the Rite of Tranquility, and the demons attacking Innley had been repelled, or so Corbinian's Circle contacts said. When pressed, they clarified that he wasn't possessed, but didn't say much more than that. Afterwards, he had been given a series of magical exams – not a Harrowing – and was allowed small freedoms at first: an unlocked cell, visits from fraternity mages, and the permission to work simple spells. Additionally, he was repeatedly given tests of sanity, because they wouldn't allow him to be released until his mental state could be known for certain – which Corbinian found rather ironic. The Circle wasn't exactly a nurturing environment. As to why he ended up in that cell, the incident, they heard naught but a vague reference.

The reason Innley was being let loose from strict restriction was because he had been sponsored by a fraternity; in essence, some group of Enchanters volunteered to mentor and train him, to guide him not just with magic, but with points of etiquette, such as when to talk. Then, of course, he would need to pass his Harrowing once he turned nineteen. The Enchanters, who themselves were also a mystery, claimed him in late winter and it wasn't long after that before the fraternity was able to help him pass his sanity tests; thus, Innley was as free as a Circle mage could be.

Once they learned when Francesca was due to leave the city, it had only taken a month for Corbinian to arrange a visit – with the help of Ser Traven this time. The Templar seemed to feel so terrible about their previous visit that he had taken a special interest in helping Samantha see her brother. This time, Traven had escorted them only as far as the marble-encased library, but the same thick darkness covered everything from the wall sconces that flickered at their passing to the barren faces of nameless mages.

"What's taking so long?" Samantha whined.

Corbinian didn't say anything. He looked tense; his hands were clasped behind his back, his shoulders squared and his jaw set firm. Samantha dealt with her nerves by fidgeting, but the marquess was made of stone.

"He'll be here," Traven assured her. He walked out between the stacks for the third time, and for the third time, the battleaxe strapped to his back tapped against his plate mail creating a pinging sound that made Samantha want to tear someone's eyes out.

She grew fitful in the silence of waiting – she got enough of that at home – and besides, it was rude to stand around and say nothing. "Where are you from, Ser Traven?" she asked the Templar.

He glanced back at her with little patience. "Why?"

She paused at his suspicion. "If you prefer we stand in silence—"

His shoulders dropped. "My apologies, my lady. I'm used to mages who have less than honorable intentions. I grew up an orphan in the Chantry of Nevarra. I believe I was born in the Anderfels."

"What happened to your family?"

"My mother lives, my lady."

She blinked naively. "Then how can you be an orphan?"

"Because she is a whore. At least, she was when I was born." He offered a small smile when Samantha's cheeks flushed. "There is no need to feel embarrassed, my lady. It is a simple truth about her, not about me."

He turned his shoulders away, stepping between the stacks to see if Innley was coming yet, and again his battleaxe pinged annoyingly.

Corbinian had listened to their exchange in curiosity. "Why did you join the Order?"

"Seemed like a noble thing to do. Protect mages. Protect people. Be part of something good."

Samantha and Corbinian exchanged glances; Ser Traven had used the past tense.

"Here we go," Traven said, and Corbinian managed to stand up a little straighter while Samantha took a step forward.

She had been expecting a boy to round the corner, but instead came face to face with a man. He had the same soft bronze hair as hers, but Innley's had changed and now hung to his shoulders. He had a scar over his left brow which divided it in two, and the eyes beneath seemed sharper than she remembered. She had to tilt her chin back to look at him, for he was now taller as well. The only thing that remained from the dungeon was his stubbly beard, which, now trimmed to a patch on his chin, looked much nicer.

It seemed like no one had told him where he was headed, for the look of confusion that graced his fair face gave way, at first, to recognition, and then unrestrained joy. For the first time at the Circle, Samantha saw happiness on a mage's face.

"Sammie…?" He opened his mouth in surprise, and she didn't wait to throw her arms around his neck and hug him close. "Sammie…" He gripped her tight, breathing her name again and again, and she closed her eyes, no longer fearing the darkness as relief poured out in her tears. She hadn't realized just how tense she had been for the last year, but holding her brother close, whole and new, she relapsed into innocence, even if it was just for a moment.

"I can't breathe…" he rasped and she loosened her arms. "There… Maker's breath! You seem taller."

"Taller? I'm shorter than you now!"

He chuckled softly, and she felt grateful that the Circle hadn't taken away his calm demeanor. "How did you get in here? Do Mother and Father know?"

"Maker, no!" She laughed, gesturing to Corbinian. "Beenie arranged our visit in secret."

It took a moment for her brother to tear his eyes away from her, but he seemed startled at Corbinian's presence. "Beenie… I didn't see you there!" He thrust his hand forward, and the marquess grasped Innley's hand with both of his. "You arranged this?"

"Took me long enough," Corbinian muttered. He was trying to make a joke, but his relief was obvious. "You look well."

"I feel fine," Innley assured them both. "Everyone keeps a close watch on me these days, but I feel fine."

"Do you… remember anything?" Samantha asked cautiously, although she was afraid of his answer. "Do you remember our visit?"

He hesitated before he answered, glancing at Traven and biting his bottom lip pensively. "No. I'm sorry, I don't. They tell me that I was… not myself."

"You were out of sorts," Corbinian said with a smirk. "A right mess. The only thing that would have made it worse is getting riotously drunk and dancing in the fountain of Andraste!"

Samantha had been worried about what to say, but she should have known that Corbinian would make the exchange easier.

Innley stifled his laugh, as if he were used to keeping his voice hushed at all times. "I am treated just fine here. They won't let me out, of course, but I guess you can't have everything."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she asked him quietly. "About being a mage?"

He moved his hand to hers. "I didn't want you to have to lie for me. It wouldn't have been fair to you."

"But I would never have told—!"

"I know that! But you would never have been safe. Magic is a part of me. It doesn't have to be a part of you. And besides that, you're a terrible liar."

Corbinian chuckled. "Got that right."

"Hey!" Samantha pouted. "I can keep secrets!"

Innley grinned. "I'm sorry, sister, but you really can't. Remember when our father's pocket watch went missing?"

"I was six!" she protested. "He cornered me! What was I supposed to do?"

"You were supposed to lie!" His smile quickly faded. "Do they… talk about me?"

She opened her mouth, wishing more than anything for a lie to come out, but nothing did.

Crestfallen, he looked down to his soft shoes, which drew Samantha's gaze to the rest of his attire: he was wearing a dress – well, it was technically a robe – and she wondered if he was wearing traditional attire underneath.

"I talk about you," Samantha said resolutely, and her brother looked up, his eyes reddened with blinked-back tears.

"Then I suppose you're all I've got."

"Ahem." Corbinian lifted his hand up. "Someone else. Right here."

Innley chuckled softly. "Right. I suppose I could do worse than a marquess."

"I believe that's how Sammie feels as well."

They all chuckled, and even Ser Traven, who was working to stay out of the way, smiled quietly.

"How is it here otherwise?" Samantha asked her brother.

He shrugged. "It's all right, I suppose. I have a fraternity interested in me – well, interested in my abilities, I guess. They are just over there." He pointed down the row and Samantha tilted her neck, peering past the bookshelf to see where he meant.

At the tip of Innley's finger was an eclectic group of mages, who all wore long grey robes with delicate red thread woven in a pattern along the hem. There was a woman with a strange tattoo on her face, a long-haired young man who walked with a cane, a very dark-skinned boy around Innley's age, an older man with a shock of blond hair and a beard that nearly covered his face, and a comely woman who was staring off into space. In between hushed whispers, they would occasionally glance over at a pair of Templars, one of which was Langley, who was sneering in return. Apparently, contempt for mages was something the mages didn't approve of.

Innley pointed at each mage in succession. "That's Grace, Wendell, Alain, Decimus, and Terrie. They are quite kind, actually. They have been helping me with my magic. Learn spells, learn to harness energy, learn to control my dreams. It's all normal stuff for mages, apparently."

This was all new to Samantha. "Wow."

"Decimus has been great. He's my mentor. He may look like a traveling worker, but he's got a keen mind. And Grace, she's quite funny. She has this great joke about—" he glanced at Traven who had taken a sudden interest. "—about goats. And Alain, he's just like me, actually; his parents live in Nevarra, and he was taken away from them and brought here. They were all very impressed to know that I was born here. They say that it's really rare that a mage is allowed to stay in the city where their family is."

"Why?"

"They have done studies. Seems mages are likely to escape if they're familiar with the city, whereas if the mage is a stranger to the area, they are more likely to accept life in the Circle."

"So you get to be their experiment, then?" Corbinian joked.

"In more than ways than one," Innley quickly replied, but glanced at Traven nervously after the words left his mouth.

Samantha looked cautiously at Traven, too; the Templar was watching Innley, but he didn't seem as intense as Langley. She asked her brother, "So, they're watching out for you, then?"

He hemmed a little. "For the most part. Terrie, she's been really great. She makes sure I have all my books and my robes. There are so many rules here… you wouldn't believe it."

"It sounds like they're a good lot."

"They aren't like you, and this isn't home—" He hesitated another moment, glancing at Traven nervously before he spoke again. "If I pass my Harrowing and become an Enchanter someday, I'll be able to join their order. I'll have a voice here, respect, a title."

His voice trailed off but he never looked away. She could see it in his eyes. There were other things he wanted to say but didn't because of the Templar standing nearby listening to their every word. His chin tipped down sadly, and Samantha felt like a child for all her powerlessness. It didn't feel fair, this type of youth, to be thrust into adulthood too soon where the life ahead seemed to loom instead of tempt.

Her chin wavered. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too," he whispered.

"Forgive me." Ser Traven had become an expert at apologies. "It's time Innley returned to his duties."

He hugged her again, tighter than she had squeezed him before, and she heard his voice, barely perceptible, in her ear. "I want to go home."

But he couldn't come home, and even if he did, she knew her parents would turn him back over to the Circle. He wasn't their son anymore. He wasn't even a Mayweather. As much as Samantha treasured seeing him, she wondered if perhaps keeping him in Starkhaven, like Innley had suggested earlier, was a bad idea. Was he less likely to accept his life here?

Corbinian placed a hand on her arm, and Samantha turned her head against Innley's shoulder, looking into the Vael-blue eyes of the person who made this possible, and grateful for his intervention. Upon release, she touched her brother's face, wanting to preserve the memory in every possible way, and underneath her hands, his eyes pleaded for a different life. Samantha wondered if she had done him a disservice by coming here. Had she made things worse?

It looked like it pained Ser Traven to gesture to the other Templars to lead Innley away, but her brother didn't move as they came for him. He didn't blink when they placed their armored fingers on his shoulder where her cheek had just been. He didn't speak when they ordered him to return down the hall. And he didn't fight them when they pushed his body into movement. They weren't unkind, but they were his keepers, his jailors disguised as protectors, and the obvious truth that went ignored was how much they enjoyed it.

The world seemed less majestic that it had before. Evil used to be ethereal, a construct made of imaginary figures in books and legends, but now it had a face – no, worse, a whole group of faces. Templars, the Knight Commander, magic, and her parents. Evil was made by women and men who insisted that the evil they did was somehow less evil than that of others. Did the fact that they saved Innley from an attack by a demon – or so they said – mean that all the other things they did were justifiable? Locking him up? Keeping them apart? What they did, and how they did it, created the stigma that kept her parents from acknowledging Innley's existence.

Traven led her and Corbinian back through the library stacks, and the bookcases passed by in a blur of dim browns and greens muted by shadow and torchlight. Once back into the bright world, filled with the Maker's light, she thought again about the lack of windows in the Circle. Someone should do something about that, she thought. The Maker's Light should shine on the mages, too.

Traven bowed formally but uncomfortably at the Circle gates, and the Marquess of Starkhaven thanked him for his service. And then it was over. Just like that.

Corbinian looked to the setting sun on the horizon. "I should get you home."

Her parents assumed she had been in the gardens with Corbinian all day. They were so easily fooled these days, willing to accept any lie as long as it involved the Vaels. It had almost become boring to lie to them, as bad as she was at it – Innley was right about that. She hooked her hand through his elbow as he walked her through the neighborhood, and she paused at the fountain of Andraste, looking up the warrior prophetess for answers, but finding only stone.

"Tell me everything will be all right," she said hollowly, turning to see Corbinian staring at Andraste as well.

She wasn't sure she believed him when he said, "Everything will be all right, Sammie." She wasn't sure he believed it, either.

"Can you come by tonight?"

"Only if it's through your window." He hadn't lost his sense of humor. "I don't even want to see my parents tonight."

"At least you can avoid yours."

They walked slowly back to her estate, their moods subdued after such an emotionally exhausting afternoon at the Circle. Still, he bowed deeply at the door, and gave her a wink before sauntering off down the street.

She bathed, spent the evening in silence with her parents at dinner, and then later in the solemn library of her family estate she read Thedas: Myths and Legends by the famed Chantry scholar, Brother Genetivi; Samantha always enjoyed his writing.

Finally, when she was dismissed to her bedroom, she walked up the darkened stairs of her darkened house, pausing to scowl at the portrait of flowers where Innley used to be. Sometimes, she wished she had the courage to rip the painting from the wall and smash it into a million pieces.

She paused once she got to her room, for draped across the chair of her writing desk was a dark coat, its long back pooling on the rug. A fire bounced up and down in the hearth and she stared at it for a moment before her gaze shot over to her bed... where Corbinian reclined, his hands behind his head, wearing wool trousers, a high-collared tunic, and a smile.

She brought a hand to her forehead. "Maker, Beenie. You scared me! I didn't think you'd be here already!"

"Close the door."

She pushed the heavy plank of wood closed and when she turned back around, he was beside her, sweeping her up against him and twirling her around the room. Her melancholy nearly fell away with his warmth infecting her.

He kissed her, sweet and celebratory, but pulled back shortly after, setting her feet upon the rug. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be happy."

"I was. I am. I mean…"

He sat down on the edge of her bed. "What?"

She stared at her hands in his; they were the same color, stained from the sun. Innley's had been shades lighter, withdrawn from the Maker's light. "Seeing him was a reminder of how he isn't here. He's there."

He nodded slowly. "But he's all right. He's safe and reasonably well. And you have my word that you can consider that the first visit of many."

"Really?" Was it too much to hope for?

"Really. Someday, Innley will be an Enchanter, and then he will be allowed to leave the Circle for all sorts of formal occasions."

"Don't tease me." Samantha cracked a smile.

"Perhaps even royal functions." He spread his arms wide. "Where I am the guest of honor and whoever I wish to attend will attend!"

She let out a small laugh.

"Perhaps royal functions where you are the guest of honor."

"That should be awkward for my parents," she said sourly.

He chuckled. "I've just arranged my nineteenth name day ceremony. I'm assuming you'll be there."

"Nineteen… nineteen. Is that an important year?" she teased, finding her mirth.

He shrugged. "Sort of. I mean, I'll be taking the Oath in front of my father, the prince, the Grand Cleric, the First Enchanter, the Knight Commander, and… well, everyone else in Granite Circle."

Her jaw dropped. "Well, you certainly know how to throw a party!" She suspected there was something else, but he just grinned like fool.

Standing up, he crossed the room to remove a small bottle of spirits from his coat pocket. He popped the cork and took a swig before handing the bottle over, and she took it gratefully, not realizing until that moment how much she desired a drink.

When the moon came into view outside her window, they blew out the candles of her room so she could fake sleeping. The hearth outlined the shapes of her room in thin strips of gold. Her bedposts wiggled with animation, her curtains fluttered in an imaginary wind, and atop her bed, Corbinian's cheeks grew full as he smiled. Passing the bottle between them, they sat across from each other as the night transformed the world into geometric shapes.

"Everything will change, you know," he whispered. "After that day."

"No more apprenticing with Lord Kendall?"

"He's taught me all that he can. I'll be left to my own devices, finally."

"Maker help us."

"He's too old to travel, you know."

"So you'll be traveling alone?" She passed him the bottle and he cracked a grin that turned into a genuine smile, the darkness parting with the white of his teeth. She reached out a finger to his cheeks playfully, and he swatted her away good naturedly.

"I know, I'll take you to Nevarra," he started with a hushed whisper. "There is a giant park behind the Chantry. Almost half a mile. It's huge. There's an enormous tree in that park with these rose bushes that have grown over the path, and on the other side of the tree is a tiny little clearing and a bench." She watched him talk, his voice rolling over the words in his Starkhaven accent. "I'll show you that bench when we visit."

Only a few years ago, she had doubted him. She had questioned the strength of his affection, but here in the dark, with the fire's wobbly light across half his face, she felt a swell of emotion. This boy that she had known since he was a child and would know after he became a man turned her body electric. Somewhere deep inside there was a thrumming, like he had reached into her chest and plucked a set of lute strings attached to her heart, and her whole being vibrated with song.

"What are we going to do on that bench?" she whispered back with a wicked grin.

He took several things in his hands at that moment; first the bottle of spirits, setting it upon her bedside table, then her wrists as he crossed them behind his neck, and finally that smooth patch of skin on her back just where he said he would all those years ago. As she moved into his lap, his right hand moved up her neck and into her hair.

They had spent many evening in such states, with his hands in her hair, and her hands underneath his shirt, falling back onto her bed in ardor but never to completion – again, with his gentlemanly ideas. But this night was different. On this night, when he kissed her, the vibrating lute strings became a symphony, swelling the warmth into insistence, and she felt it inside them both. When they fell back onto her pillow, she assumed that this was it. But instead, he stopped.

"What's wrong?" she asked breathlessly.

"I was thinking of that day in the barn."

She gave a sly smile. "Which one?"

"I know you remember," he teased.

Even in the low light, she could see the redness in his ears, and she supposed that she would always know him better than anyone else, these little details discovered in intimate moments. "You said…" She closed her eyes trying to remember. "Something about… the point of courtship."

"Yes." He was watching her lips move. "I said that I was going to request permission from your father before things got any more serious with us."

"Oh, is that what you were saying?" she teased him back, tugging on his hair.

"I didn't want to disrespect you, silly girl."

"Obviously you've come to your senses."

He sighed with a shake of his head under her hands. "I haven't yet." He brushed her hair back with his sword hand, and she always liked the way his calluses felt against her skin. Something about the roughness of them made her feel quite feminine.

"Don't tell me you're going to start reciting poetry," she joked, but hiding that perhaps she actually wanted a declaration.

He smiled. "I'm not going to smooth talk your dress off you. Though I would surely love to know the color of what's beneath."

She answered immediately: "Blue."

His flushed hot, which she liked. "I don't want… Well, I do—" He stopped and then started again. "I want you to want to. Not because you think I want to."

She had seen the look he was giving her before. It was the same look that Sebastian's brother gave his wife as they sat in a carriage, parading their newborn son around town. It was a look that Arianna Marziano had called dolcezza, which translated from Antivan means something close to gentleness, and it was a look that Samantha wasn't really expecting.

"You're not new to this…"

"But that shouldn't matter. Did you think I was expecting it? That's not right."

He was sort of surprising in his gentlemanly ideas. It had been four months since her father had given his permission, and yet Corbinian had waited this long, and now he still waited, never pressing like so many other boys. The noble children of Starkhaven were not a prude bunch – well, maybe except for Ruxton Harimann, who blushed like a flower whenever someone mentioned anything remotely related to sex.

"But before—"

"None of that was serious. Not like you and me."

"You and me is it?"

"You and me, Sammie." And he meant always.

Often his irreverence implied a total lack of seriousness, but when he wanted to be serious like this, she was reminded again that he could change the trajectory of anything simply with his words. She felt suddenly nervous, as they were often irreverent together, and turning serious wasn't in their nature.

She wanted to say something meaningful or important, something to match that look he was giving her, but the between the darkness and his arms lie her thumping heart, her greatest vulnerability. It was something she had given away so long ago, she couldn't remember when it didn't belong to Corbinian. He must know. Those three words, never spoken aloud but forever implied. Looks, longing in their secrecy, in their youth, in their desire.

But, of course, he saved her from a response. "Sammie, you don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know how I felt about it."

"Well, I…" She wanted to say something about how she felt about it, too, but the truth of it was that she had been attached to Corbinian for so long, that she had forgotten her own experiences with how demanding boys could be – namely, a certain exiled prince. "No one has ever asked me." It felt like a stupid thing to say. She could have thought of something better, something that didn't inspire the troubled look that it produced upon his fair features. That look twisted her stomach into knots. She tightened her hold behind his neck, trying to assuage his concern. "No, it's not like that. I don't know how to explain… it's just different for girls, I guess. We're at odds with each other more often than not, and when boys are against you, too… sometimes it's easier to just—"

"I don't want you to do whatever is easiest with me." He nearly spoke aloud with a conviction she had rarely seen. His arms tightened around her. "I may not be the most devout Andrastean, but that would be a sin that I could never live with."

She laughed spontaneously. "Contrary to the list that you could live with."

She could see his cheeks puff out in the dim light. "Everyone has their standards."

"Mine might be subject…"

"You think the Maker would object? To me?" He had that I'm a Vael sound to his voice.

Teasing, she said, "Well, they say that the Maker has a plan for each of us in his grand plan for the world."

He considered her for a moment. "Then if His plan should ever separate me from you, Sammie, I will move the stars from the sky, I will fight demons and mages and dragons and Qunari, I will cross the Fade if I have to until I am returned to you."

There were a million things that were happening in the world at that very moment, but none mattered except for this one. She lifted up to her knees and started unbuttoning the back of her long dress. Corbinian just stared at her with wide eyes, as if he were expecting her to stop and laugh and claim it was all in good fun, but she kept her gaze fixed on his. As the cool night air traveled down her back, her bravery grew in the soft hearth's light that hinted the room. When she pulled the front of her dress down the length of her arms, she could see his Vael-blue eyes scan the length of her.

Her underwear was a pale blue with lace, like all of her favorite clothes.

He just stared at her for a long moment in the silence of the room, and his voice was unfathomably quiet when he said, "Maker's breath, Sammie."

Clothing was important to many people in Starkhaven, and often the more of it that someone wore, the more money and class they had. Lace tunics over bodices and petticoats, covered with vests and jackets and ribbons and shawls. To have them all removed, to show so much skin that was so rarely seen by anyone but a nursing mother or a maid, was one of the most intimate moments often saved for honeymoons or wedding nights. Even her friends, in their deviancy, never removed their clothes. Somehow, though he would swear he never tried, he had talked her out of her dress.

He lifted himself to his knees on her bed, his warm hands moving around her waist and it was a new and wonderful sensation to feel them on her bare skin. He seemed to be nervous or something, like he wasn't sure if he should touch her, and so she guided his hands to her body, and once given permission he was suddenly quite sure, knowing exactly where he wanted to touch her, but with softness, mindful of pressure and movement.

"Beenie," she whispered and he paused. The light of the room was nearly gone. Was there something she wanted to say? Was there something she was afraid to say? The conversations with her father, the letters, the Circle and Innley, the years that stretched behind them, and a lifetime of private jokes and inseparability had all fostered within Samantha a sense of self; she was who she was because of him, and the same went for Corbinian.

It was as if he knew what she wanted to say and so he whispered it first. "Sammie. Surely, you must know…" She was thinking about what he was about to say, the weight of those words and if things would change after, but she lost her train of thought when he said: "You are like the sun, Sammie. You light up everything, and when you go away, you take all warmth with you. I've loved you since that first day in the training yard when you called my sword small and likened my stance to a goat's." They both chuckled. "He made you beautiful and perfect. And maybe even for me."

And that was when the moment overtook them both, warm kisses with her hands moving up his back and his hands sliding up her neck. She folded his tunic backwards off his shoulders; he pulled the last ribbons from her hair. She unlaced his trousers, and he unclasped her lace underwear. They lowered themselves down to the pillows, holding each other closer than anyone would ever know, until that moment when she whispered that she loved him, too. And what was left was the loveliness in the details.

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