gerureru: He touched her hair, as if to count the snowy strings. He touched her cheek, his fingertip
gerureru: He touched her hair, as if to count the snowy strings. He touched her cheek, his fingertips running along the old scar. Then he hugged her, cuddling her close to his chest, stroking the back of her head. And she, shaking and crying uncontrollably, let him. ‘A strange thing, fate,’ she heard him whisper faintly. ‘Goodbye, my daughter.’ -- source link
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