He was real, now. He didn't need her to call him anymore. He just appeared. And she could touch him — she could never do that before. He appeared in daylight, the early hours of the morning. He wouldn't tell her what was wrong. She knew he knew why she felt less real, less solid, with every passing day. And he wouldn't tell her why.
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Short Storyghosts, demons, and trapped souls -/ a collection of album fiction based on pvris's white noise [if you are seeing this on any site besides wattpad, IT HAS BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION]
