Slowly her eyes opened as the song triggered memories. She remembered the hushed whispers, the smell of incense, fluids, and other things. But her time there was also one of privilege, Rhea knew this. The reason why she had been there wasn’t the same as the others, she had her own agenda, and it became clear as she let herself let herself go, ignoring the murmurs of her workers and forgetting where she actually was. The fans themselves began to speak; “Watch me, Follow me, Focus on me.†Her legs arched around an invisible pole as she raised herself up on one foot, holding her arms out for balance as Vaughn hit a specific note.
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Of the art of the Fan (Semi-Open) |
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