She felt pressure between her eyes. It had become almost blinding, the search for the exact moment an image would change the direction of her pencil. The moment, a word would become a vision. D-E-C-A-D-E-N-C-E. She can recall: when words became silence... when eyes spoke. A bit of hurt. Music transporting life, transporting decadence in shades of grey. Grey, tone 18.
She likes it there... can I stay?
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