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It was not the sorrowful, lovely piece she had once played for Dorian, and it was not the light, dancing melodies she’d played for sport; it was not the complex and clever pieces she had played for Nehemia and Chaol. This piece was a celebration—a reaffirmation of life, of glory, of the pain and beauty in breathing.Perhaps that was why she’d gone to hear it performed every year, after so much killing and torture and punishment: as a reminder of that she was, of what she struggled to
