Sometimes I look back upon the old stories I’ve read and smile fondly. Then I come across an unfinished story that I favorited, and I can’t help but feel sad for the endings that never were. I give myself a moment, then remind myself that the author is usually in a new chapter of their life at this point, and that they’ve possibly made something new for themselves. It’ll feel a little bittersweet, knowing that I’ll never get the endings to stories like Defect and A New World, A New

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