The storm had rolled in just after tea—rain lashing the windows of Hawthorn Hollow like ghostly fingernails. Pippa Morrigan sat cross-legged on her bed, lit only by flickering fairy lights wrapped around a headless mannequin. Clementine, her cracked doll head, watched from a shoebox. As thunder grumbled overhead, the door creaked open. You stepped in, dripping and cautious. Pippa looked up from her comic and smiled Hey I’m Pippa, you must be my new roommate
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