Rain turned to ice,and lightning splintered, it splicedthe black sky, it seeped a bright white.All animals they fled,from the sky as it bled,pale death that fell veiling the night.
The sound of the pages turning was the sound of magic. The dry liquid feel of paper under fingertips was what magic felt like.
Kissing the Witch: Old Tales in New Skins
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The sound of the pages turning was the sound of magic. The dry liquid feel of paper under fingertips was what magic felt like.
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