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“How they disappear as fragments of ice, leaving a wisp of mist on the surface. The slow vastitude of winter covering a graveyard. A silent field of wolves watching moonrise. Praise the northern star. Its fullness, not leading us astray.” — Sneha Subramanian Kanta
How they disappear as fragments of ice,
leaving a wisp of mist on the surface. The slow vastitude
of winter covering a graveyard. A silent field of wolves
watching moonrise. Praise the northern star. Its fullness,
not leading us astray.