The first one, hood slightly askew, was sweeping dust off my clock. Not menacingly. Tidily. Every few seconds, it would tap the hour hand, and a soft chime would echo—not from the clock, but from somewhere deeper, like the sigh of a closing door.
So now I leave out a thimble of milk and a crumb of bread. They don't eat. They just sit beside it, pretending, and I pretend not to see them pat each other's backs. cute reapers in my room
At first, I thought the soft thump was a book falling. Then a whisper of velvet against wood. When I turned on my bedside lamp, there they were: three small reapers, none taller than a coffee mug, perched on my bookshelf between a wilting succulent and a half-read novel. The first one, hood slightly askew, was sweeping
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