Caedwulf says the saddest thing
Caedwulf was in a bed not his own, alone. It was such an unlikely occurrence that he was all the more certain he was dreaming the closer he came to waking. Either the unfamiliar, scratchy sheets were a dream, and he was at home in his own bed — in the bed upon which never feminine body had lain since the death of his mother — or there was a girl beside him, albeit a remarkably ethereal, undetectable girl.
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