Morning sneaks in pure white through the dusty window. The room lacks a clock and the air seems to have forgotten about the ticking of time. Betty’s eyes open slowly. Her dreams are fleas biting, impossible to catch.
The children hover at the door, afraid to open, afraid that the whole episode was a delicious illusion, and nothing but their mother and father wait in the closed room.
But Betty grunts and rolls from her back onto her feet as the door creaks open. Both children let a quiet shriek out and rush into the room to pet her velvet ears.
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