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“She turns to the piano and begins a song, slow, mournful, that sounds like the wind in my dreams. As her fingers drift over the keys, the song wakes something inside me besides grief - a shadow, shadow of a shadow in the library of my mind, something I never knew forgotten.” — Pierce Brown
She turns to the piano and begins a song, slow, mournful, that sounds like the wind in my dreams. As her fingers drift over the keys, the song wakes something inside me besides grief - a shadow, shadow of a shadow in the library of my mind, something I never knew forgotten.