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“But then he heard something--- a note purer than birdsong, softer than morning dew. He turned. It was then that he saw the woman: she sat on a rock near the shore, singing just for him. Like she'd been waiting. The rising sun set her hair alight, her skin glittered with wet. Her eyes were round and dark as a seal's; her hands soft and warm as summer air---” — Emilia Hart
But then he heard something--- a note purer than birdsong, softer than morning dew. He turned. It was then that he saw the woman: she sat on a rock near the shore, singing just for him. Like she'd been waiting. The rising sun set her hair alight, her skin glittered with wet. Her eyes were round and dark as a seal's; her hands soft and warm as summer air---