She, whose name wasn't Lucy, drank her second cup of tea in less than an hour. What can someone do when the sign for North is wrong? Lucy had left the compass in her homeland. The path she had chosen needed an open mind, not a map. But on the border line the ways were confused.
But just now what she needed most was a miracle, something, whatever made the fucking hangover disappear. And afterwards, a pretty cane for getting out of the bloody hole.
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