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7/31/2025, 3:31:10 PM
>Yara crouched like a folded knife in the shadowed recess of the hangar deck, her long abhuman limbs tangled and lean as steel cables, her skin pale and taut like stretched parchment. The apple sat heavy in her hand, its redness unnatural, almost seditious. Born on low-gravity world of Gravis Theta-9, she’d never known fruit. Only nutrient bricks, recycled slop, and the iron tang of blood when rations ran out. The apple cracked under her bite, sharp and wet. Sweetness flooded her mouth like a heresy. She chewed slowly, deliberately, as if the fruit might vanish mid-taste. A deckhand passed her, gave her a glance, then looked away. Smart. Even bent and sitting, Yareth towered. One of the Longshanks. Genetically sanctioned, but barely. Too tall. Too quiet. Too strange. She took another bite, eyes pale and unblinking.
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