Jay Reeder

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“D-Don’t… go.” I tremble on one foot as the sound of crutches against concrete approaches. Tears stream down my cheeks and freeze in the gradually increasing wind. In that moment, the final scrap of light disappears from the sunset. Ceaseless darkness invades everything. “S-Stay.”
Twisted Heathens (Blackwood Institute, #1)
by J. Rose
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