"It was very loyal of you to come straight to me, Sister Sapienti--and very foolish," said His Holiness, as he lifted off his mitre to reveal two squirming antennae.
A tendril brushed his arm once, and he expected it to cling like molasses; instead it passed through him, but left a sticky residue on his skin, sweet and unsettling as the tons of slave-harvested cane sitting in the hold.
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