50-word Tale: Zwei

Naomi propped her dainty elbows atop the windowsill.

“Life is not a highway strewn with flowers,” crooned her angelic and mellifluous voice in profound despair and poignant sorrow.

The curtains chasséd to the rhythm of the wind.

“Still it holds a goodly share of bliss,” someone husked.

That startled her.

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