Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. Her eyes were insane with rage, crusted with yellow and green, only beginning to heal from her long sojourn underground. Now the sense of beauty was spreading to a multitude of hitherto unsuspected aspects of the world about her. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. He heard Melusine cry out, but his attention was all for the nick he had made in her neck. He refused his food,—and even when better provisions were offered him, rejected them. Both of them.
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