"We want to believe in happy endings," she ran her fingers through the child's hair, "we want to believe they could come true."
The long fingers began to braid and twist, like a sitting at a flax wheel. The child sniffled softly. When she was done, the woman looked back and admired her handiwork.
"Some people say bad endings are more realistic. Sad endings, tragedies. All the blood shed, all the lives lost, the living scarred and haunted."
She reached over and laid a hand over the child's own, engulfing it in her long strong fingers. Felt the sharp points of the scissors curled in that little palm. The voice whispered in the child's ear.
"I say, an ending is an ending, and it's up to you to decide what to make of it."
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