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Feather Harmony
deae48
Fine, we step through the curtain of water. It is cold and somewhat salty. Sputtering we slip a little on the smooth floor and sit a moment to clear our eyes.
The air smells of perfumes, cloth, candles and those scents common to a woman's quarters, albeit a somewhat alien edge to them.
She proffers us a cup, holding it in both hands to conceal the slightest shaking, the only sound our breathing mingled with the waterfall.
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