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Daughter by Jane Shemilt 

The night of the disappearance.

She used to tell me everything. They have a picture. It’ll help. But it doesn’t show the way her hair shines so brightly that it looks like sheets of gold. She smells very faintly of lemons. She bites her nails. She never cries. She loves Autumn, I wanted to tell them.

She collects leaves, like a child does.

She is just a child.