[It might be fun, Alia might've joked, even a week ago, when things were still summer-warm and safe and dreamlike. Then, she might've revelled in promising to tear out a throat or two with her teeth.
But now: autumn. The leaves will change, the lake will freeze, the moon turn orange and heavy, and Alia will see none of it, without a miracle. And she already has two of those, more than many are permitted, even if her soul tells her the dream with them is ending.]
Then I won't. I will not leave you my mess to clean up.
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But now: autumn. The leaves will change, the lake will freeze, the moon turn orange and heavy, and Alia will see none of it, without a miracle. And she already has two of those, more than many are permitted, even if her soul tells her the dream with them is ending.]
Then I won't. I will not leave you my mess to clean up.