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Weekly Contest #343
At the funeral, you let her wipe her tear-streaked cheeks on your red wool sweater. When she moves away, the wet spots she leaves in her wake are no longer warm with body heat but searing cold—cold enough that your skin shrinks away from the wool. Celine had never touched you like this, had never leaned into you like you were the only thing tying her to reality. You two had lived in two distinct worlds, always in orbit, but never colliding. She was magnetic though alien, beautiful but distant, and you had always been attracted to her like a ...
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