Setting
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The cloaked figure realized they didn't bring any presents. That was something that was done, at parties, for birth days. Presents. No matter, an easy fix.
From within their cloak, Mourning drew a glass vial. It swirled with a silvery liquid, one that changed to an inky black where it caught the light and glittered where it should have hosted shadows. Mourning turned it over in their hand. Inside, a tiny flower bloomed in dark smoke and wilted into a skull, before blooming back and wilting again, and again, and again, so quick that a blink would count it a missed sight and the memory would host it as hallucination.
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