The Faded Bouquet
You strike the first blow. It is a clean, technical cut. The blade of the argument severs the air. You are the warrior here. You are the one with the edge. The room is a sterile white box. Fluorescent lights hum at a frequency that grates against the teeth. It is a boardroom, but it feels like an interrogation cell. The glass wall reflects your own face back at you. Pale. Tight. Ready. Across...
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