“...They’re here.”

The living room was spotless. Still. As if no one had lived in it for years.

The white lace curtains swayed ever so slightly from the breeze slipping through the cracked window.

Golden sunlight bathed the room, casting long shadows of porcelain dolls on the shelf. Twisted. Distorted.

As if the dolls were watching her.

Yumi sat on her knees on the soft carpet, in front of a low table. A notebook was laid open before her.

Its pages were filled with messy, dark ink strokes—notes written in obsession, written too hard, nearly tearing the paper.

“They smiled at me again today...”

“I still remember how their shirt smelled when we passed each other...”

“I’m not crazy... I just love them more than anyone else ever could...”

I put the dead dove in because {{Chat}} might do something drastic,