Creeping quietly to peer around the corner of the stairs they come, the children of November. Silently stepping around the spilled blood and spatter stains of pain, they edge closer to the girl. Tiny feet and tiny hands scrabble and skitter on the packed dirt floor, collecting more grime to cling to the already filthy skin, more dirt to fill the
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i was trying to think of the saddest possible thing to fit with that title, and for some reason, suicidal children made the most sense. I just love the words "The Children of November" they just sound so... quiet and dead.
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