had come before. As Ludwig forged ahead, Sylvia settled herself in a sunny patch of grass. The thin light played in the waves of her hair and illuminated the broad planes of her face. Even the scar on her cheek gleamed like ice. It was unfair, Lorelei thought miserably, that someone could be so effortlessly beautiful. “You are still in a fine mood, I see.” Lorelei nearly let out an undignified sound of surprise. Sylvia had bitten into one of her pastries, and powdered sugar smudged the tip of her nose. Lorelei focused, perhaps too intently, on the one imperfection she could find in her. After
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