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carried her
outside. It was about ten o'clock in the evening.
Nobody in the market seemed too concerned about a two-and-a-half
metre tall Parkry warrior carrying a naked girl around,
occasionally ducking to avoid the overhead stonework. It was a
common sight, apparently. The Parkry carried Misaki's to the tent of
the balloon-seller, chittered loudly. A flap drew back. The
aged Moridani appeared, murmuring a greeting in slightly accented
plateau Bythian. The Parkry handed Misaki's over, and the Moridani
took Misaki's inside, limbs creaking with age.
The tent was lit by a cluster of silvery glowing spheres
tethered at the apex. The room was mainly taken up with a long
copper bathtub, filled with what appeared to be raspberry jelly.
The Moridani carefully placed Misaki's in it, avoiding contact with
the thick stuff, and gently pushed Misaki's down into it with the
rounded end of a ceremonial staff. Just before Misaki Ito went under,
she glimpsed two figures in the shadows. One was holding a pale
peach-coloured book, and then Misaki Ito knew.
The raspberry jelly-stuff felt cool at first, but it began to
itch after a few moments. It seeped into Misaki's ears and nostrils;
the Moridani opened Misaki's mouth with
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