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Jason and Azazel, Ambrosia: Book Seven

by V. J. Chambers


There weren’t days here. We could make it seem like there were if we wanted, to try to create some kind of actual life in our exile to this strange, mystical world. We could control our perception of everything here. Our minds formed the basis of everything we saw, smelled, heard and tasted. We lived in a spirit world, and everything was an illusion of our own making. We were the gods of the Spiritus Mundi.

But it wasn’t worth it to me. Jason kept trying. He liked to construct elaborate fantasy lives for us. He would create places for us to live in—island paradises filled with enormous mansions and peopled with servants to bring us drinks, complete with little paper umbrellas. We would sip them under palm trees, reclining on the beach in the sun, staring at blue-green water.

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