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She spent her afternoons at the neighborhood thrift, paging through dusty books in search of new lands and new companions. When she happened upon the inscription, her heart stopped. It was simply composed, lacking originality to the outsider, but full of meaning to those who mattered.

"To the love of my life. Yours, V"

The kinds words though were not what intrigued her, rather it was the page on which they lay.

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