She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. I’m glad the old sore is assuaged. I did so. What’s your name?” He asked in return. I have—run away. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground.
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