Brendan Davis

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She saw her foolishness now. It was folly to think for even one moment that this man could be anything other than what he was. What he had been born to be, and molded into. It was only when his horse’s hoofbeats faded into the distance that her heart slowed its rapid pounding and she sat down on the stump, put her head in her hands. What have I gotten myself into?
The Weaver and the Witch Queen
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