The room bore the scars of her frenzy. Leon approached Millie, his concern surfacing. “Are you unharmed?”

Millie shook her head, stepping back cautiously. “I am intact.”

Millie entered the room, saying, “I’ll fetch the design drawing. Please wait.”

In the room, Millie rubbed her scratched arm from the carton.

Fiona teetered on the brink of madness, propelled from destitution to opulence, and now hurled back to her origins. Such a drastic shift often carried a poignant ache of acceptance.

Yet sympathy found no place within Fiona’s narrative, for her own choices sculpted this trajectory.

design draft and blinked in surprise at the tidied room—Leon had erased the

Millie extended the draft.

fixed on the blueprint

Millie recalled something and inquired, “Why

pocketed the design, his gaze

I was Flynn Davies. The name

black T-shirt, embroiled in brawls day by day. Over time,

to the fold, he took on a new name and

believed he’d

reassurance, Millie ventured, “Preserving some past memories is worthwhile. But we should move

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