PREVIEW
... r knees feel like they’re made of shaky glass. The kind you see in old greenhouses, trembling with the slightest breeze, and ready to splinter with a touch. Her legs are uncooperative, but she forces them to move, one foot after the other, because if she doesn’t rise now, she knows she never will.
Every single pair of eyes shifts to her again, and she instantly regrets not sprouting wings to fly out the nearest window. Preferably into the horizon. Preferably never to return. But no, appa ...
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