Kleptomania. (yes, it is exactly 101 words.)

It was calling him—calling him and he had to answer. A simple locket of dull gold with flowery initials swirling across its oval surface. He wasn’t KLM. And that was precisely why he couldn’t resist. It lay, bare and unprotected, on the dresser covered with dust surrounded by countless faded photographs in austere frames. He neither wanted nor needed it, but his outstretched hand twitched, closing over it without his permission. Hearing footsteps in the hall, heart racing in that best of ways, he felt the cool metal under his palm. He placed his hand slowly back into his pocket.


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