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There’s a single cigarette on the table, but it’s not like any cigarette Wendy has ever seen or smoked. It is the color of a paper bag, with a filter at the tip that appears, of all things, to be made of moss and lichen, knit together on some rock and harvested delicately.
“You’re too hot to be a witch.” Wendy taps ash onto the plate, and even that is more beautiful than ordinary ash, fine and black.
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