White room. White walls. Grey windows. Covered. Only a tiny hole prevents inner torture. White floor. White ceiling. Grey door. Locked. Only a faint knocking worsens the constantly shifting mind. The room stands. Observing. Absorbing all that's near.
Only.. It will all be too much. Overwhelming. About to burst. White walls will tighten their grip on the ceiling. Useless. It will be too late. Thin strands of hidden truths will come flying out. Confetti in the air. Spiraling and whispering until they reach the ground.
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