The Dandelion

He crosses to the air conditioning unit and fiddles with the buttons, unsurprised when none of them glean any sort of response, and instead opens a window. The hinges squeal in reluctance as a warm current saunters into the room. 

"Hot out tonight," he notes. Her head whips around at his words and she feels the tendrils of the wind begin to ruffle her dress. She crosses brusquely over to him and slams the window shut again. The air settles. 

She holds out her palm. 

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10,000 Jars of Captured Wonder

Excerpt:

The acrobat has only a particular talent for stealing breaths straight from the lips of those who watch her. 

She discovered it when she was very young, with the breaths of other children in the village. She used to play with them when she was alone, whipping them into her own personal wind, blustering through her bedroom, ruffling the pages of open books and sending the sashes of her dresses fluttering up towards the ceiling.

The first night she ever performed, she began to save them.

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