Winter is coming; daylight is fleeting; for the students among us, end-of-semester hell is just about to rear its ugly head. What better way to combat such woes than with a super-cheerful comment ficathon?
The house is practically perfect, Anne decides. It may have had something to do with seeing the house right before sunset, when the last lights of day are drifting through the windows at just the perfect angle. She hasn't grown up so much that she can't see the flecks of dust in the light dancing around and not pretend they're tiny fairies and pixies, welcoming her, dancing for her. She stands still, afraid that if she moves even the tiniest bit that they'll be frightened and dance away. For the moment she just sits, content to enjoy the show
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