The Count of Renar kept me alive. The promise of his pain crushed my own under its heel. Hate will keep you alive where love fails. And then one day my fever left me. My wounds remained angry and red, but they closed. They fed me chicken in soup, and my strength crept back, a stranger to me. The spring came to paint the leaves back upon the trees. I had my strength, but I felt something else had been taken. Taken so completely I could no longer name it.
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