I. I jump at the slightest touch on my cracked back. Fierce mountain wind rushes around me. My ears, too long and pointy. A cold hand on my forehead makes […]
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The Metaworker Literary Magazine
Where great stories are forged
I. I jump at the slightest touch on my cracked back. Fierce mountain wind rushes around me. My ears, too long and pointy. A cold hand on my forehead makes […]
Read more