“The moons are dancing.”
“What was that sweetheart?”
“Look.” Her daughter, with her impossibly dark hair and eyes spilled from ink, pointed to the sky. “Can’t you see them?”
She squinted. “I’m sorry, but I can only see the clouds.”
Those dark eyes looked into hers, swimming with a mixture of concern and what felt like pity. She swallowed nothing but dust.
“What a shame. They’re so beautiful.”
She turned back to the sky, her eyes reflecting invisible lights. Annabelle walked backwards, watching her reflection in the glass shrink beside her daughter with a hand clutched to her chest.
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