The outerlands were rich with the not-unpleasant scent of decaying vegetation. The vast network of gnarled, tightly interwoven tree limbs that spread across them like a massive canopy of tangled wires was so dense that day became as night upon entering.
It was a dangerous place, a place little girls shouldn’t have been permitted to wander around in, and 50 said so.
“I know what I’m doing,” said Abelia as they hiked across a mossy blanket of rotting leaves, their path illuminated by the glowing blue mushrooms that dotted everything. The two robots walked behind them in silence.
“Bet the soil here is rich,” remarked 50. “It’s almost magical, in a way. No wonder 28 was drawn to it. He was a magician, you know.”
“An occultist. Like Aleister Crowley. At least that’s who he compared himself to. You know anything about Aleister Crowley?”
Abelia shook her head…
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