This half-life dragged at her. She felt weary all the time, a chilled-bone sluggishness of motion that belied the quickness of her thoughts. It was not painful to breathe, but it was tiring, and she began to eschew it when alone and unworried about frightening the living.
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BCS 073: “The Traitor Baru Cormorant, Her Field-General, and Their Wounds” by Seth Dickinson
BCS 045: “Winecask Bellies and Owl Wings” by Liz Coleman
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