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Something hardened in my world, the way it did every time my father told me I had to become a man and that being a man meant being brave. As something acquired another layer of earth crust, fossilizing more completely inside me, something else emerged from its cocoon like a late summer moth, soft and fragile, dancing around flames.
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Read “The Silent Flowers of the Magician's Garden” by Eleanna Castroianni, in Issue #286
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