“So that was your first time dying. Pretty dramatic, don’t you think?”
Dakshana opened her eyes.
She was - alive. Lying on a nest of furs. In a cave while a fire crackled in the background. But there was no hum of magic, and no otherworldly-beautiful boy gazing at her with broken-hearted eyes.
An old man huddled beside the fire. His hair was white, long, tied back neatly out of his wrinkled face. His smile might have seemed facile, but his black eyes were sharp, missed nothing.
He leaned over her and said, “You really did die, you know.”
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