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tears streaking, fingers typing.

Luna del Cielo
She stares at the screen. Her fingers type with little thought pressed behind them, although the words on the screen appear to be the work of an educated individual, composed neatly, with an impressive vocabulary.
 
But there’s no real thought there. No, her brain is too busy dealing with the explosion of images, dark, frightening, heart-stopping. Her suddenly chest tightens. Warmth swells up, centered around her heart, and streaks towards the back of her eyes, inflaming them. Hot tears press against sensitive flesh, and her eyelids strive to fight against the flood, but the battle is a losing one.
 
Heat streaks down her cheek. It cools quickly, leaving a prickly feeling in its wake. She moves to wipe the residue away, but instead hesitates. The tears remind her of what she is fighting for, a physical reminder that bests the dark images inside her brain. She can do this.
 
She has no other choice.

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