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February 24 - February 26, 2025
Sometimes the shadows whisper. Sometimes I whisper back.
my wit is the quiet sort. The kind that flourishes in solitude, in the shy pockets of the day. It spews from my pen rather than my mouth, and I often find my tongue clumsy where my script might have been elegant.
“Everything I’ve ever done has been in service of preserving my future.” “And what a life you’ve squandered in the meantime.”
“Don’t worry, Darling,” says the Shadow Keeper. “I don’t like the idea of those men touching you.”
this close to the Shadow Keeper, his scent of amber and pine threatening to intoxicate me,
“I don’t want to bother you.” A sly smile curves his lips. “Then don’t leave.”