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Summary
" When a person begins to forget someone, it is always the face that fades first. And oh—how cruel it is—that you, within the fragile province of my memory, have become nothing more than a wisp of mist, thinning and dissolving in a morning stripped of sunlight. "
They remember only vaguely that there had once been a little angel—wings gleaming like the last streak of gold at dusk—who had reached out a hand to them, pulling them from the murky depths where they were drowning, before that very silhouette, too, slowly dissolved into oblivion.