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[There's no scream, no shriek. No woman's cry piercing through the cacophony of wingbeats. That would be too easy, too expected.

Too final.

That would ring of closure.

This will never end.

The sky is black, and the world goes dark, raven's-wing, like a candle blown out.

Don't cry, little boy.

Have a comforting (or is it?) hand skittering like spider's legs down the length of your spine.]

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