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THE TASTE OF REGRET

NIRELLE

The feeling against my skin is not what I expect it to be; the bar stools were not as soft and comfortable as these are. My mouth feels parched, too parched for that matter. I chew whatever is left in them and scratch the side of my neck until I feel a certain wave of relief wash over me. I stretch my body over until my hands hit the headboard, and my eyes flutter a little as I look around the room.

"How did I get here?" I murmur with a yawn as I sit in bed and look around. My eyes fall ...

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