The young girl smiles and it breaks your heart to know that smile will never come again. Never that very quirk of the lip, that dimple in her cheek. Another, perhaps, and similar, but never the same. She will slowly succumb to the world's sorrowful news; it will follow her and gnaw at her sleeve like a kid goat that doesn't know any better. She'll live that way, with few reprieves, until she weds her dreams to reality. Then she'll be a dutiful wife, serving hors d'oeuvres and making small talk, and always looking wistfully back.
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