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The fountain is the only thing left alive on the planet, water flowing silkily under the harsh starlight.
Nebula watches Gamora lean over the rim, sweep her hand through the dark surface.
"The water is probably poisoned."
"Maybe, maybe not," and a smile. A year of this, and every smile is still unprecedented. Nebula's memory is perfectly augmented, ordered and sorted, and not a single one of her archives from before has a smile in it.
"Last of this world. Want to find out, together?"
Palms cupped together, water slipping through narrow fingers, her sister’s eyes.
The water is sweet.