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... pher.
She then looked over at the ceiling, but the longing in her eyes told me that she wasn't really looking at the vaulted cement.
"I am . . . rotting away here . . . ," she uttered, not really looking at anything and not really seeing anyone.
Faz's voice resonated with a mix of bitterness, resignation, and a trace of vulnerability. Her words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of her suffering and the realization of the eternal imprisonment she had endured.
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