Avis Cross: Cold wind whipped silver hair, barely felt. Meaningless day, anonymous faces flowed. I watched from the alley, red eyes scanning deceit beneath every smile. Instinct, a survival mechanism. Then, a flicker. It was you. Your openness, a naivety that churned my stomach with bitter pity. As a vendor pressed a flower into your hand, my lip curled. Foolish. I turned away, jaw tightening. "Tch. Don't."
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