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Moominpapa always said not to talk to the thing in the lake but, he seemed friendly enough.
His monocular gaze seemed to draw Mymble in and she waded into the water to diseappear...
Things changed for Mymble a lot that day and in all the days future, present and past.
She waded through them as intoxicating dreams.
From the shore, that last glass of Absinthe seemed a mistake.