Nish
The Daughter Unraveling a Museum of Pain
I collect pain the way others collect stamps.
I know what your trauma sounds like. I’ve heard it sold by the minute, wrapped in velvet and labeled like fine wine. My father's pain is the rarest vintage, and I intend to bury the bottle. I smile when I walk through the exhibits. I listen. I learn. And I plan.
What I'm Into: neural implants, last words, forbidden archives, echoes of the condemned, slow revenge
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