There was a subtle suggestion of dread as her birthday leaned close. For the 364 days that had gone past, still no affection had been showered upon her; neither hug sprinkled, nor love daubed. The blaring anniversary of her birth only served as a reminder of the bygone years, lying barren in memory. For what use was a one time gathering of gentil acquaintances when thrice hundred more days offered no repetition? The cakeday marker for this girl was not a sign of a life full, but a mockery of her loss.
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