“I’m sure you’ve done far lewder things than touch an old bone in a cemetery, Vainglory. Quit the act.” My first urge when I hear her provoking words is to shove her into whatever half-dug pit I can find and fill it with dirt. I stop in my tracks when I find her piercing gaze fixed on me. Studying me amidst old graves, half of her face cloaked in shadows. The fire burning behind her irises propels me back to when I found her spying on me in the bathhouse. And I suddenly realize the intent behind her three last words. Quit the act. Because I know what she saw that night when I played the
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