Hydratedcurls

One hundred and nineteen years later… Five dark, chilly days into November and as many since they’d come and burned Feathers, Wesley woke abruptly in the middle of the night to find his deceased pet perched on the windowsill beside his bed, watching him. He didn’t need the bitter clutch of the icy air to tell him he wasn’t dreaming. The clock had gone seventeen soft ticks past five-eleven in the morning and it was still dark in his tiny room, but the scene was as real as the nightmares that patrolled the streets and as stark as innocence lost. Wesley hadn’t been able to protect him. “No animals,” one of