The Ghostmouse’s Story: a tiny tale of sinister skelemouse shivers
It is fair to say that small and fluffy parts of my soul went into the Web of Woe. Standing before it’s beast-trapped span of stitching and spiderness a mix of pride, horror and panic at leaving it behind washed over me. We all suffer moments of graffiti knitting mourning, when the lamp post you adorned is bare once more, when the railing you wrapped is dull and knitless. It is in these moments that you wonder why. You wonder why and you wonder where. Is Mothra living under a bridge...
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