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Stormy Encounter
Thunder as honest weather.
The sky does not ask permission. Thunder arrives like a door slammed — trees bend because they must, rain sheets because it can.
Thirteen is old enough to know safety is temporary. You stand on the porch counting seconds between flash and sound, learning math the classroom skipped.
Humanity bound is accurate. Not conquered — just reminded who invoices the afternoon.
The wind stops arguing eventually. You are still standing.
JV · Dark Heart Labs