And the wind whispered through the bamboo chimes, "Closure is a dish best served on artisanal stoneware."
Ava sat, legs crossed, spine straight, dignity draped like a designer shawl. Her crown was fashioned from crystallized rosemary and the shattered remains of gaslighting attempts past. Clarissa, now donning a therapist's lanyard that just said "Not Your Savior," massaged Ava's shoulders while casually sipping from a mug labeled "My Boundaries Are Not a Buffet."
Meanwhile, the guests milled about in the Afterglow Tent, a silk-draped gazebo pulsing with light lo-fi beats and the distant sound of emotional detachment. Inside, Shen held an Integration Gong and struck it every time someone said, "I'm fine now, really," with that high-pitched edge of total denial.
