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his beauty shone like a flame, vital and bright, drawing my eye against my will.
His presence was like a stone in my shoe, impossible to ignore.
the marks she has made on the stone. achilles, it reads. And beside it, patroclus. “Go,” she says. “He waits for you.”
In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out the sun.
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