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Silhouine

Yael almost drops the candle, scrambling over, while Silhouine sits down with her mouth open. Then she shuts it. “Ooooowwwww,” she notes.

“It could be tipped with something,” says Yael, the quickness of her speech letting fear in around the edges. “I have to take it out, all right?”

Silhouine blinks and pats at her head.

“All right,” says Yael, and yanks. Only a little blood comes out.

“THAT IS REALLY A LOT WORSE,” says Silhouine. “What time is it.”

“What?” says Yael.

“The stupid room is a stupid clock,” says Silhouine, who is beginning to realize that smells have colors.

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