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          "Cross!" The voice of a little girl reflected off the same colorless walls she'd seen growing up. Her pupils stared away from the empty words of the book she was reading and riveted on the photo in the following page.

          "Yes, Princess?"

          "Have you touched snow before?"

          He sat down on the space beside her and glanced at the book in her hands. "This is called a snowflake. It's the tiniest yet the most beautiful and fragile thing. Sort of resembles you, Raven."

          "They fall only during the coldest days of winter; the chances of spotting them other than the Christmas period being next to zero," she read. "No, that sounds a lot like you."

          He unwrapped his arm from around her and suddenly rose from his seat, with Raven instantaneously following his actions. She firmly gripped the thick coat he wore, preventing him from accumulating the distance between them.

          "You're leaving already?"

          "I have to go."

          Cross despised unwittingly hurting her. He turned around and hugged her one last time—a hug filled with apologetic sentiments. "Can't you stay just a little longer?"

          He whispered with a smile, "You'll shatter if I get too close."

          "I wish my birthday wasn't on Christmas," twelve-year-old Raven complained

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          "I wish my birthday wasn't on Christmas," twelve-year-old Raven complained.

          "Why?"

          "That way, I'd have an excuse to see Prince Cross twice a year!" she paused. "Actually, I hate birthdays. The more candles I see on my cake, the less frequent visits I get from him."

          "Rave, on a brighter note, today's your birthday and Christmas Day. You're conceded to enjoy this day twice as much as normal people," Scott consoled.

          "Do you think he'll come by more often if I plant less candles on my cake?"

          He patted his melancholic friend on the head and said, "Since you're feeling a little bit heartsick and I'm a person of good nature, I'll grant you two wishes on your birthday each year. How does that sound?"

Poisoned in RedWaar verhalen tot leven komen. Ontdek het nu