Mas_minggu
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Summary
It has become a habit for him to cradle his Vision first thing in the morning, to feel the physical symbol of his heart and the breeze that kisses his hand back.
He freezes, however, when his knuckles brush against nothing. He whips his head down to see that the golden feather, the last object tying him to his mother, is gone.
Bookmarked by Mas_minggu
07 Jul 2026