Green outfit, hair flowing backwards, looking directly at you. Who am I? I am Emerald. I am grass-stained denim and flowing sleeves, dragonflies landing on me. Scarves and necklaces look like branches, like I am part plant, even if all day is spent in an office. The plants outside, through said office window, wave to me, disappointed I cannot join them. I long to join them.
Who are we? We are the ones who kept quiet as the world burned. Who still feel smoke in our eyes, blinking away tears pricking in irritation. Why? What are we here for? I think I knew once. I don't anymore. I'm tired. My wardrobe was chosen hours earlier, when hope still existed. Before it had been drained out like a vampire, hope the oxygen being sucked away by said vampire drinking my blood. I had a purpose once, I think. I had a point. I had some reason I was telling stories. I'm not sure what that reason is anymore.
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