Beatrice giggled as she entered Emi’s bedroom. “You must have tidied up recently,” she said. “There’s no way the Emi I know would be this clean.” “Hey.” “Am I wrong?” “W-Well, this is the new me, the new and improved Clean Diplomat Girl,” Emi said. She noticed her outfit from yesterday laying on the floor and kicked it under the bed.

Hands Held in the Snow

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