Therese’s mouth was dry, her lips parched. She opened her sleepy eyes, her lashes momentarily sticking together, and found her face pressed against Than’s chest. The pain had finally stopped. She knew exactly where she was. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep on the altar beside Than beneath the Grecian skies at the base of Mount Kronos outside of Demeter’s winter cabin, but her last memory was of the pungent scent of burning flesh, and that had been replaced by the fresh smell of morning dew. Blinking her dry eyes to produce tears, she wondered at the gray papery flakes of ash covering the two of them like dirty snow, which, when she flicked it from her arm, lifted in the air and floated before drifting to the ground. She shuddered, realizing she was brushing away bits of her old self. Than met her bewildered gaze and gave her a hesitant smile. “You okay?” he asked. “We’re glowing.
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