The wind continued to glide over the headstones, the scent of his cigarettes wafting around me, and at this moment, I thought I would’ve liked to be him. He was going to get away with this. What would we all do if we could get away with it? Maybe I was lucky to never have to find out. Maybe he was because he could escape his pain. “Who is it?” I asked softly. I took in their hair. Hers and his. The same jet black, so dark it almost shimmered blue in the moonlight. The same skin, pale and translucent like they were made of marble. I looked at her costume. “Your mother?” I whispered. I’d heard
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