And the toughest part is that we both know what to happened to you, why you're out on your own. Merry Christmas, please don't call.
It was a wet kind of snow that fell the night of Christmas Eve. Luci didn’t mind; the drinks they'd had earlier still burned through them even as they shivered. It wasn’t enough to make them stumble, or fall, or forget. How unfortunate, during a time when the memories are so potent they hurt.
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