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"Gods!" Her fellow novice gasped, his eyes wide. "What happened to your back?"
Witch, they had named her. Corpse-defiler. Daedra-cursed. Hold her now! Bring the oil. Burn her, cleanse her. Cleanse this house, this cave. And as she burned inhaling the smoke of her own flesh she screamed and cried and swore to kill and rip back from Oblivion all these... all these little men and women who huddled in their stone houses, scared to death of death, wasting away the years.
She pulled her now dry shirt from the low tree branch and turned to her companion.
"Just a burn," she said.
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