S A M | The Book in Hand

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Light blossomed from his fingertips and engulfed the fiend’s head, but to call it simply light is to say a sea contains a little water. It was as if a heatless sun had sprung from his outstretched hand. Closing my eyes just wasn’t enough. I threw my arm over my face, and still, my eyes pained me.
The Thief Who Spat In Luck's Good Eye (Amra Thetys, #2)
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