“Why do you love the dark so much?”
She looked up under heavy lids, her lashes crusted with days-old mascara.
“How can you not love it? It provides opportunity without judgement. You share the streets with foxes and kindred spirits, and the silence allows your breath to be the loudest thing. When else does that happen?”
It scared her when she spoke like this, the way her hands fluttered in front of her mouth like moths.
“Are you ok?”
She ran a tongue over her teeth, starkly white.
“Are you?”
She felt the pulse of blood at her throat.
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