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The Convent Spirits Chapter 1: St. Monica’s Chapel

October was passing quickly. The trees which had been brightly colored were now turning brown and beginning to fall so that their rustling could now barely be heard. Winifred was awake long before it was necessary; she was kneeling down…

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Gesture

A blinking eye echoes its stormy tear, Through the landscape of your mind. Falling in the shadowed shades of discontent; puddles if it is left behind. Growing in a chaotic crescendo clashing, Unavoidably... splashing. Until...it is all but swept away…

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