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Short Story of Rei's Death

Decent Essays

Breanna looked down at the page in his memoir, number twelve. Had they really only read twelve pages, when she had gained so much information? Looking back, it seemed like Donovan had not written in a comprehensive story format, but in a series of key points for him to remember, such as 'uneven, cold' and 'hair covered his eyelashes looking down'. It was mind-bending that his memory that had taken hours to recall was written on only a few uninspired pages of paper. And it was all sitting neatly in her head for her to review. “Are you ready for the next one?” Donovan asked, reaching over her shoulder and checking that she had turned to the correct page. She shied to the left, unable to ignore how much heat poured out of his shirt sleeve as it passed by. This confirmed her theory that his temperature was affected by his actions; this time it was the dinner he had just eaten, other times it was after being riled up or, rather inconsistently, by sitting without moving for over an hour. If there were things he could do to make himself warmer, there must be things she could do to cool him down, and maybe weaken him... “Yeah, go on,” she said absently. “Alright.” He placed his hand on top of her head and worked his fingers into her hair, down to her scalp. Breanna grimaced. “Is there another way to do this?” “After a while I won't need to make direct contact. But for now, unless you want to try the optic method, which you mentioned before made you even more uncomfortable—”

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