When I finally picked it up, it crumbled just slightly, light as paper, brittle as ash. The truth arrived not as a scream, but as a quiet, devastating recognition: a tiny frog, perfectly formed and utterly gone, mummified into a shape almost beyond understanding. It hadn’t died in front of me, but somehow its absence filled the room. I kept thinking how a life can vanish so completely that, when we finally notice it, we’re only left with a riddle made of what’s left behind.
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