shooting stars (even when they bleed out on the floor)
by insert-creative-name (meadows_at_dusk)
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Summary
mabel pines knew sadness very well, and the empty oblivion that crashed over her in indifferent waves sometimes was a pen pal that wrote every few months, but fear was an old haunt, a ghost that hadn't darkened her doorstep for years ◍ but then, why did it greet her now?
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