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Y/N
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I look down at the box and all the things in it. The clouds outside rumble; I hear the tremendous sound of thunder like large pianos are thrown down the stairs. I don't like this weather. I may like rain, but not the thunderstorm. It scares me, makes me seek warmth of someone. In these past months, it was him. But it's changed now. I'm better feeling cold than relying in his warmth of musky scent.