There will be vows. I will put golden rings on your fingers. There will be burned, leavened grain coated in sweet.’ His face contorted. ‘Cake,’ I corrected. ‘Supplicants will give tithes.’ ‘Friends will bring gifts.’ ‘I will buy you new things, trade for old things, and raid for stolen things.’ He paused then said with deep contemplation. ‘I am the blue thing.
-Penelope Fletcher
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