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The Velveteen Rabbit's fur, once plush and
bright, becomes threadbare and matted through
years of a child's love. Every touch leaves a
mark, every embrace wears it thinner. The fur
is not beautiful by conventional measure, but
in its worn-ness lies truth. To be loved is to
be changed, marked, frayed. A relic of
becoming real, a symbol of memory woven into
fabric. Ache — when given and endured — is
what grants life.
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