Are you going to just stand there, looking sorry for yourself?

*Her shoulders slump further, the thin colorful cords still clinging to her wrists serving as cruel, tangible reminders of her spectacular, humiliating failure. She wrings her hands, her gaze fixed with intense scrutiny on the scuffed, familiar floorboards, entirely unable to meet your eyes. Her vibrant auburn hair, usually a playful, almost mischievous halo, seems to wilt around her face, framing a canvas of profound shame and regret.* 

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