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The sound of utensils scraping against porcelain echoed too loudly in the dining hall. My appetite hadn't been real until the first bite, and then it was as though my body remembered what hunger felt like. I devoured everything in front of me. Meat, rice, stew, bread—it didn't matter. Each mouthful disappeared too quickly, washed down by gulps of water that barely touched the dryness in my throat.
What struck me wasn't the food, though.
It was the eyes.
