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Eoin

There are a few tricks museum exhibit constructors use that are both cheap and unfailingly effective: faint conversations repeating in the background, matte paintings, soft scoop lights from underneath. They transport Eoin every time. Magic, but less in a sparkling Disney sense than in sympathy, similarity and correspondence. The kind of magic people write graduate theses about.

They tempt him, the artifacts placed carefully-carelessly on the other side of railings and velvet ropes. What would happen if he stepped over? Magic fails so often, under examination. Eoin leans over and cocks his head, listening for the hiccup of the loop.

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