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Roylsden #85


From her grip on my hand a warmth spreads through me. Not the warmth of heat, but the warmth of tranquillity, a warmth of peace and safety that slowly engulfs my whole body until I become serene. I recognise something from my past: a fleeting instant of this feeling, barely acknowledged at the time, when I walked with Clint through the adoration of sparkling stars. It is the warmth of love.
But it's only memory, and has no substance.
And yet?
And yet it is timeless. And though it has passed it is with me now. And always will be.

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