Inge Beulen

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Then my shirt tears open, that light breaking through behind me into dozens of rays that stream like ribboned sunlight. Una’s eyes go fearfully wide, and I look over my shoulder, following her gaze. Long, satiny strands drenched in liquid gold with veins of black move around me, their lengths twisting and lifting. I can feel them.
Inge Beulen
YESYESYESYEYES !!
Goldfinch (The Plated Prisoner, #6)
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