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“I don’t want to think anymore,” she says, simply, and her voice comes out a little more raw and cracked than she intended. “Please.”
And Thyme makes a comforting, acquiescent little noise deep in her chest that sounds just a little heartbroken, and she presses a kiss to the crown of her head.
And the song goes on, and it goes like this:
sometimes, roe needs to get out of her head for a little while.
- Part 12 of parsley, sage