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Was it eight o'clock? Nine o' clock? No one was quite sure, but either way it was still dark and cold and the weak light of potential morning was blue and hesitant. It would be at least an hour before any real sunlight threatened the crystal existence of frost, so for the time being everything was silver, blue, soft and quiet, fragile and waiting to be torn apart by a whisper.
posted by ethylene at
07:02
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