Larkspur Quinn

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the hum of energy along her skin grew stronger just as she broke through to a clearing. This was nothing like the Altar. There, the sky was her ceiling, and the meadow was vast and welcoming, dotted with wildflowers and the warmth of old memories. Here, the power was a bottomless well that vibrated until the air itself distorted, like a heat mirage.
Spells, Strings, and Forgotten Things
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