It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. They were only passers-by. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. I was always told my mother died the day I was born. She shuddered. She was the High Priestess. She—She can snub him. “I wouldn’t.
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