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A Good Girl was laying on her side in her basket, these new babies by her side. They smelled funny and they were the wrong colour, but they had started to nurse and she was feeling better. The humans had brought them to her one by one, and they seemed happy that she had let them.

A figure appeared in the room, a silvery outline with a strange smell. Of dog, sorrow and something that should not have been.

Who are you? You should not be here. She didn’t growl, it barely occurred to her.

Those are my babies. I can’t go without them. The figure stepped closer, reaching for the litter. A puppy whimpered when her snout’s faint outline went through him. I can’t go without them.

The humans brought them to me after my babies stopped breathing. They wanted me to have them. The puppy stopped whimpering when she licked him with a warm, soothing tongue that was really there.

Your babies? The shadow tilted her head. A faint whimper of something else arose, not truly a voice no more than their scent was a true scent, of sorrow, fear and the strangeness.

The silvery figures of her own pups shifted, the babies who had stayed though the humans had taken their bodies away. Blind and deaf, they whimpered, and her tongue passed through them.

Cautiously, the Ghost Dog reached in, nudging one with her snout. It did not pass through. Her tail fluttered, she reached for the ghost pup, very carefully picking them up one by one. Licking her own strange pups, Good Girl let her. She could not care for them anymore.

The Ghost Dog wagged her tail, gathering the shimmering puppies around herself, all turning fainter.

My babies.

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