Lydle never knew flesh could feel so good, so elustrious, and never fading from his fingertips. The snow outside wasn't the last thing on his mind. The tree of lights just didn't occupy the same importance as usual. History was divided in two, and no one could mediate because everyone had picked a side. It wasn't black and white, no, it bled right into charcoal gray, and when the ashes fell, it was the earth that kept them, used them, and there he was Lydle, breathing them again.
There's a holiday for you.
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