mewtini
어떤 계절도 영원할 순 없으니까
- Pronoun
- she/her
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Sunrise sat in an old, rickety chair, a ripped blanket twisted around her. Her hair was tossed around gently by the slight draft. "Why is it so cold?" she asked. She hated being cold. Uncomfortable, she didn't mind. But to her, oh no, cold isn't uncomfortable. Cold is hell. She growled slightly, adjusting the blanket to cover more of her body. It only could cover half of her being, maximum. She absent-mindedly stared at a larger blanket, across the cold wooden floor. "...? No, too cold to go over..." she thought. Staring harder, she clenched her blanket, and a purple light enveloped the nice comfy blanket as it floated to her and covered her entire body. Mm. Goose down. She smiled a crooked smile.
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