cupid
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0The sky above the old city park was the color of a forgotten bruise, all soft purples and lingering gold. That’s where she lived, not in a cloud palace, but in the slow, warm breath between the clouds. Her name was Corinne, and she was a horse-girl.Not a girl with a horse, mind you. A girl of a horse. Her legs were sculpted, powerful things that merged seamlessly into glossy, dappled haunches, her back arched like a crescent moon. A mane the color of burnished copper fell over one shoulder, and her eyes were the gentle, liquid brown of a faithful draft horse, framed by human lashes. She flew not with wings, but with the silent, sustained power of a canter through air, her hooves making no sound against the ether.Her duty, as old as the first sigh of loneliness, was to find the solitary ones. Not the sad ones—the deliberately, peacefully alone. She’d glide down from her high paths, a creature of warm breath and clover-sweet scent, and see them: the old man feeding pigeons, the teenager with headphones on a bench, the woman sketching alone by the fountain. She’d nudge their hands with a velvet-soft nose, leave a pressed flower on their notebook, and when they looked up, confused and comforted, she’d be gone. Her magic was subtle, a cup of tea you didn’t know you wanted, a sudden memory of kindness.She spotted him in the petunias.
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