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... she remembered. She sighed, rubbing her hands nervously.

The therapist, a woman with a kind smile, exuded warmth, the kind of warmth that made Frida want to reveal her deepest, darkest secrets.

The room was hyper-feminine: white lace curtains, super soft fluffy slippers, sweetheart-shaped seats, and heart-shaped plush pillows.

Everything looked like it belonged in a serene dream. The chamomile scent in the air completed the ambiance.

Frida felt almost too at ease ...

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