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Addicted to the Flame
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She leans in, not for warmth, but for escape. The flame hisses like a secret, blue and hungry, whispering promises of release that the world never gave her. Sunglasses shield her eyes, but they cannot hide the truth—she is both the moth and the fire.
Every inhale is a rebellion, every exhale a surrender. The room dissolves into blurred strokes of pink and gold, reality dripping away like melting wax. She knows the danger, knows the burn is inevitable, yet she cannot pull back.
Because the flame isn’t just fire—it’s her reflection. Her need. Her undoing. And in this moment, she isn’t running from life. She’s consuming it, one spark at a time.
Every inhale is a rebellion, every exhale a surrender. The room dissolves into blurred strokes of pink and gold, reality dripping away like melting wax. She knows the danger, knows the burn is inevitable, yet she cannot pull back.
Because the flame isn’t just fire—it’s her reflection. Her need. Her undoing. And in this moment, she isn’t running from life. She’s consuming it, one spark at a time.