The Rotting Girl

The Rotting Girl

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WpMetadataReadOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sun, Nov 9, 2025
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Poetry
Beneath the floor where candles rot, The rotting girl remembers not. Her hollow eyes, two wells of stone, She hums to bones she calls her own.
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The Ghost

She shouldn't be there. Yet she is - watching from afar. That is her life now. She doesn't remember what came before. Or does she?

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