“Why am I even here?” Angelus asks herself as she sulks in a corner of the ballroom. Hidden by the shadows of a black marble column, she sits in a puff of tulle, satin and lace. A discarded mask lies at her side, staring at her with innocent but mischievous shaped eyes. Why am I even at this stupid masquerade? Even if it is mine for my sixteenth birthday, no one cares if I’m here!” Then a random thought occurs to her. “Man! I sound depressed.…
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