“it wasn’t just me. our cousin had an ‘imaginary’ friend...”
☠☠ her eyes sparkle in revelation, in that odd way they somehow manage with no light normally in them. something's clutched to her chest, like a shy teenage girl’s pile of schoolbooks. one, small, burgundy, hardcover book, the cover tattered and mouse-bitten, pages held together with a series of old, dirty rubber bands.
“Ours used to ‘play together’. They━ they got along, for whatever fucking reason. She told me his name, over and over, but I always forgot.”
“An’ then one day she kept screaming she lost something of his in our house, and had to be dragged out, throwing a fit. and━ come to think of it, that’s the last I’ve ever heard of...”
(there’s nothing in her mind to follow it.)
“I don’t even remember her name. S’like something took that away, too...”
