The Faded Photograph
We kept the fox in the cellar, not for what it was, but for what it refused to be, a creature of fur and breath and terrible, quiet eyes that watched us with an intelligence that made the air in the room feel thick and heavy with the weight of unspoken things. I was twelve years old, a age where the world is still large enough to swallow you whole, and I stood in the cold, damp dark of the...
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