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She felt it as soon as she opened the door from the patio. It. Nameless, formless, paralytic. Strong enough to stop her where she stood. A rat had died inside her apartment wall a few years back. The feeling she’d gotten from smelling its decay—this, now, was the same.
They were alike, Anna and her father, but often in the wrong ways. They were identical magnets, she thought, turned to repel.
She should have been gifted a cornicello at birth.
