Harrow turns back from the closet, dressed in her habit and rusty, ancient robe. She puts her journal into the pockets and looks around the room; but none of the rest of this can come with her.
She toes on her old, shitty boots, eyes the shiny spikes of her new ones with regret.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2020-10-16 08:04 pm (UTC)She toes on her old, shitty boots, eyes the shiny spikes of her new ones with regret.
"Ready, Nav?" she asks.