In a dirty bed, two pretty girls sat. Artists in their own right. One with the silkiest, smoothest, shiniest tresses. The other with the wildest, craziest, curliest locks. In perfect harmony, they spent the evening. Pen and book in hand, they etched, sketched and wrote. As the ink flowed freely from their pens, new stories were told that day. But those stories were lost forever. Never to be looked at again. Never to be remembered. Never to be revised. Because those girls were lost that day.

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