Larkspur Quinn

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he draped a fur over the windowsill. It was as orange as the sunset, with white edges branching out into a stubbed limb on each corner. Black stripes unfurled over it like spilled ink. “A discolored zebra,” I observed, nonplussed. “Actually, this is an animal from Asia.” “Oh. A discolored exotic zebra.”
Masquerade
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