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"No shadow
No stars
No moon
No care
November
It only believes
In a pile of dead leaves
And a moon
That's the color of bone"
-Tom Waits, The Black Rider (1993)
Her voice was the sound of shattered bone that never healed properly...
it was at some points fragile and at others more resolute than I remembered.
Skin covered in the ash of nostalgiathe weight of tempered memorythe howling heart a phoenix denied flight.