Myst
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Myst knows nothing about the past; she only knows these hands are gentle, this bed is warm, and closing her eyes here is safe.
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At two in the morning, cold coffee, laundry, and a judgmental cat hold up the same house motherhood keeps running through the dark.
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At four in the morning, every cat in the house has a role to play—and none of them involve letting their human sleep.
Between Bruises & Blooms 