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it was a particular magic that she shared with no one else, and if this was so unquestionably real, then everything that was out there didn’t have to be. This was her favorite world to live in.
It had taken on the texture of a dream by then; she wasn’t sure if it had really happened.
She’d been alone for too long to be afraid now, and all the things she made were hers, no matter how scary they looked. They were born from her head and her hands and her monster child blood.
