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Rose

Our living room was small, with a few comfortable white couches neatly arranged in it.

My dad had decorated it simple but beautiful. The wall where the TV was positioned was lined with trays and cupboards, fancy objects that were kept there whose functions I couldn't decipher.

There was just one window on the left wall from where I sat.

I had dimmed the lights; they made me squint my eyes each time I entered the room.

I love my room dark.

The eerily sound that came from the clock ticking on the wall stood out in the deafening silence.

The TV was muted, I muted it myself.

Why? I didn't fucking know.

I was in my usual off-mode today.

My eyes were glued to the muted TV. It was one of my favorite TV shows.

My muse, my wannabe woman was a guest in the show.

Emily Brooker, the legendary city queen of New York City.

She was a popular runway model in her prime.

I've read every documentary about her, read all the articles I could find that had her face on it.

Was it the Aura she possessed?

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