Christine P

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On the sandy shores, whipping at my skirts, spraying salt and brine across my skin as I peer out to sea. On the mountain’s summit, the icy chill crystallizing each breath in my lungs, freezing each inch of exposed skin. In the dead of night, whistling through the trees, carrying an electrical storm on its wings.
The Wind Weaver (Reign of Remnants, #1)
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