Weritarica
AnalVids Pic(s)
The rain wept against the grimy windowpane, blurring the distant city lights into streaks of gold against the oppressive darkness of the small room. She stood perfectly still, her slender frame outlined by the feeble light, a statue of quiet surrender. His calloused hand, rough and demanding, came to rest on the delicate curve of her shoulder, its weight a brand of a debt she never owed. A single, hot tear traced a path down her cheek, its salt a stark contrast to the cold numbness spreading through her veins. She focused on the sound of the rain, a gentle rhythm so at odds with the violent pounding of her own heart. The scent of cheap cigars and stale ambition clung to the air, suffocating the last remnants of her innocence. His gaze was not one of passion, but of cold possession, a transaction where her soul was the currency. She felt her own hands clench into fragile fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms as a silent scream. Every fiber of her being recoiled, yet her feet remained rooted, a sacrifice upon the altar of survival. In that moment, the fragile bridge between her childhood and this harsh reality shattered into a million silent, aching pieces.
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