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Author's note: Here's a motel-inspired drabble, featuring Cynthia. Rated PG for a mild swear word.
This story was originally posted at the Moonlightaholics Motel on March 16, 2009.
At the Hardwick
I recline in a lovely bowl of a tub, the ice cooling me, offering respite from this stupid, stinking city—where she insists on staying, despite my entreaties. The city she haunts because of him.
I spirited her away from that hospital just in time; she was awakening to herself again. She’s in the lab, fretting, disrupting my staff. Why does she not trust me to do this for her? She knows I can refuse her nothing. Yet she paces, unsettling the technicians and terrifying the lab animals. Such a panther.
Damn it, there’s the door. What is it now?
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