From this angle, Lorelei couldn’t see her face, but she could see her hair. Even after five years of knowing her, it always shocked her—the stark, deathlike white of it. She’d knotted the unruly waves at the nape of her neck with a ribbon of blood-red silk, but a few stubborn strands had managed to escape. In Lorelei’s weaker moments, she imagined that grabbing hold of it would feel like plunging her hands into cold water.
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