Sarah Busic

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That night, I dream that I am pulling off my fingernails and giving them to you. You toss them into a lake, and as they sink to the bottom you make a wish on each one. For a moment, I am angry; shouldn’t I get to wish on my own nails? But then you turn and I see your face and forget about being angry. I give you the last of my fingernails.
Fifty Beasts to Break Your Heart: And Other Stories
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