Tasarla Romaney“People expect horror in autumn,” the thing across from me said. It was something green and half-rooted that smiled without warmth.
“That’s because they mistake death for danger,” it continued wrapping it’s hands around a cup of coffee.
“What should they fear?” I asked.
It looked toward the window where outside branches were budding.
“Anything,” it said softly, “that starts to grow too fast.”
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Thursday rule: Never trust a season just because it arrives in bloom.
