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Weekly Contest #307
Selena woke with a chill like silver threading through her veins, the kind of cold that slipped through the bones of a house and whispered to the furniture. Morning had arrived, but it was a sickly, colorless thing—more of a memory than a light. It felt like the sun was trying to shine from somewhere too far away, perhaps another century. The silence was suspicious, the kind of quiet that holds its breath before the scream. She was fourteen, or so they had told her. Every night she dreamed herself into someone else. Once, she was a woman wit...
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