Thomas could not feel his own body, only the muted sensations of someone else. He didn't understand where his body went when he brought forward the duplicate of Isabel Gladstone. At times he felt as though he was inside her body, just a little bit from the surface.
Isabel sat at a state dinner, nibbling at the second course and talking with her betrothed. Sir Emory seemed a decent sort, even if his eyes had trouble focusing above the neck. Thomas felt avuncular and protective of the girl and fought off the urge to give the knight a piece of his mind. He could tell Isabel noticed it, but she said nothing for fear of causing scandal. She was a proper woman, who was saving herself for marriage.
Or she had been, until she died.
Thomas tried not to think about that...
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