Renaissance

The empty stretch of flawlessly laid concrete of the Rue De La Marine appears embossed with the glare of neon lamps at regular intervals. It is still the same as she, rather they had seen it, except that today it is only her and the surrounding void is haunting rather than soothing. The ever refreshing sea-breeze caresses her face. She lets the first of the three gel tabs slide on her tongue. 

A dead mind is ready to be re-born.


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