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“Bag check for Willow’s eyes!”
Grunkle Stan barked out a laugh, but his niece
didn’t even protest or crack a joke back about the even bigger bags under his.
Instead, she buried her head in her arms and curled up in the corner of the
living room that Mabel had piled thirty pillows and made a little balcony over.
Willow was wrapped up in the biggest sweater she owned, an old one of Henry’s
that she swam in, and had a blanket around her. Her long hair hung limp and she
was pale and wan.Stan didn’t need weird mind shit to know that there
was something wrong with his niece. He was going to regret this in the morning,
but Stan lowered himself onto the floor next to Willow, making sure to sit
against the part with lots of pillows“What’s got your goat kid?” Stan asked.
Ms. Lilly, 4/?
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