I sing as I sang, my hair white, my gray dress, my nails dirty, my feet bleeding. My voice echoes in the walls and the tall gothic vaults. I wander, will he think I’m pretty?
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Princesses, crowns, crones, an epidemic in the verge of explosion... Hyperfiction from the deluded minds of two authors locked up in exile... and a World Literature assignment.
I sing as I sang, my hair white, my gray dress, my nails dirty, my feet bleeding. My voice echoes in the walls and the tall gothic vaults. I wander, will he think I’m pretty?
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