She stood on a vast, dusty plain before an azure, cloudless sky. Distant dry mountains studded the horizon, but she was surrounded only by rock and sand and emptiness. “Princess.” The voice was like Hel embodied: dark and icy and smooth. “Prince.” Her voice shook. Apollion, Prince of the Pit, had chosen to appear in a golden-haired, golden-skinned body. Handsome in the way that ancient statues were handsome, in the way that Pollux was handsome. His black eyes, however, gave him away. No whites anywhere. Only unending darkness. The Star-Eater himself. She asked, trying to master her shaking,
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