1 Work by Anedil
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The lady in jonquil was the one who told me to keep this diary. Somewhere inside that bright little head of hers, she seems to have herself convinced that giving me a notebook a will get me to toss her some cash sooner. She sat across from me nodding along to every sentence I spoke, insisting it was for my benefit, that writing would be a healthy outlet. The man in citrine and woman in ochre screeched the same nonsense.
I am not a fool. My lover is dead.