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Image by Matthew Henry

waking rites

Eyes turned, polite smiles forming. I shrugged, murmured some sort of assent. No, I hadn’t been sleeping. Yes, it was strange.

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carrion

When I get home, the rook is already waiting. He is perched on the guttering, pale face like a plague mask. Again, there is something perched in his beak.

Who is she?

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