The Dawnkeeper's Oath
ACT I: THE TORCH The lavender was in bloom when Henri Morel returned to Provence, and the scent of it made him want to weep. Not from sadness—from the sheer overwhelming weight of beauty in a world that had spent three years proving beauty was an illusion. He stood on the hill above Saint-Rémy, his left sleeve pinned to his chest where the arm used to be, and looked down at the valley. The...
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