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❝ TALKING TO AN ANGEL

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❝ TALKING TO AN ANGEL. ❞ : 003
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**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ 𝐏𝗛𝗢𝗘𝗡𝗜𝗫 𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗖𝗘 ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*

 ❞ : 003▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔**•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ 𝐏𝗛𝗢𝗘𝗡𝗜𝗫 𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗖𝗘 ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*

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IT WAS NOT APPRECIATED. [Name] [Last Name]'s colleagues were too passionate, like mints thrown into a fizzy drink, two chaotic young adults who had nowhere to run and lived for no tomorrow. Because of them, it brought a kind of light she couldn't grab and pocket / reminding her that winter nights was all she knew and will only will. And because of them, she had to return home and accept her impending doom.

But it wasn't their fault.

She chose to hang out with them. Indulge in their after-work activities, create cherishable but fleeting memories, instead of immediately going home after her shift.

It was her fault—not theirs.

The guilt haunts her mind, like a fresh wound gushing out blood, reminding her of her mistake; that she will always be at fault.

"Hey," Sayrenn murmured, passing her a piece of paper and glanced at her from the corner of her eye, a faint smile curling on her lips. "I heard you came late today. Is that why you look awful?"

[Name] refrained from looking at the paper, instead burned a hold into the side of her seat-mate's face. "I look awful?"

She nearly misses the distraught dancing in her voice. That same voice that was as hollow as a ghost / always getting lost in the wind. Yet whenever she hears it—she can't help but feel honoured.

𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐗 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄.Where stories live. Discover now