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... oughts she carried.

The raw, unfiltered weight of her emotions...

Her anger, her thrill, her madness, even the sharp sting of her private embarrassments when she cringed at her own smile...

They rise now, all of them, swelling within me like flickering echoes from a life I never lived… and yet, somehow, I remember.

Sometimes the sensations are faint, like mist brushing against the edges of my mind.

But most of the time, they are so sharp, so achingly vivid ...

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