"Celeste..." I turned the key and pushed open the door. "I don't want--"
I froze. Scattered debris covered an area of the bedroom floor stretching from Celeste's closet more than halfway across the room. "What the hell?" I flipped on the overhead light. Twigs, twine, dried grass, dirty ribbons. Nests. Or what used to be nests. I took a few careful steps. The closet door was wide open. Inside, a cardboard box on the high shelf lay with it's top, facing front, flaps agape. More remnants from the nests were below the box, caught among Celeste's dresses and skirts.
Celeste hadn't moved from the doorway. Her face was pale, mouth small.
"The box must have tipped over," I said. My heart hammered.
"And this happened? How?"
"Maybe by accident," I said. "The box tipped when you were getting something? But didn't spill until--"
"By accident?" She looked at me. "How can you say that? Don't you see?
She pointed at the floor. "Can't you see what it says?"
I surveyed the scraggly mess. Then it came together, into two big letters.
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