I know that this will kill you.

Holding you with these cloth-covered hands, I know this theft spells your death. But there is no help for it, you were too beautiful not to touch. This is your fault. You did this.

I picked you from among dozens, you special, crystal dagger. You were the longest, you were the finest. I plucked you from the rafters like a thief stealing a slim and frigid diamond.

But you’re not a stone.

Stay with me, ice, until I can show you to the world. Wait for me to show you to the others so that they may know that you were real, that my run-down, dilapidated house produced you. That beautiful things really can come out of that place that I call home.

Let me show them… please.

Then you may melt in my hands. I’ll even hold you to my chest, if you like. You can thaw in the warmth of my soft and grateful embrace.

That would be a nice way to die, I think.

Just let me show them, first.


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