It'll be turning over to-morrow. She had been warned time and time again by Sebastian that fame would mean the end of her freedom, being hounded in to the next lifetime by vampire and power seekers. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. A coach was also in attendance, at a little distance. Steeples toppled, and towers reeled beneath its fury.
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