She wrote stories to keep her warm at night

Some nights they were blankets curling around her toes and cradling her neck

Other nights they were kindling in the meager fire at her feet

On the days when the screaming wind came rushing in from underneath her door,

And the cold sunlight felt its way through her curtains and onto her ink-stained fingertips,

She wrote soliloquies on the windows and sealed every crack with hundreds of pages of fairytales

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