I meet other changelings who went looking like I did and entered their realms through a penny fountain in a shopping mall food court or the the last gangway connection on a midnight train. Some of them I love and some of them I can’t stand. Some of them I show the scar on my chest and some of them have marks of their own. I tell them all that there is nothing wrong with them. I clear a path to the door of my quiet place and let the rest of the ground fill with weeds and spiders. I make wishes on the dandelions when their flowers turn to seeded clouds. I wave them like wands. I blow them like
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