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The scarlet lupins stand tall around the pond, like the towers of some distant palace, the long salmon petals delicately fluttering in the wind like breaths, shining in the sun like rubied minarets. They stand facing the pond, as if they overlook a grand lake. And as the little butterflies and dragonflies skate over the water, I wonder if it is the Fae, riding home to their castle, laughing in the sun after causing mischief all morning. I bow my head, just in case. You never want to offend a Fae. I know that well enough. Something glimmers, in response.

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