douze

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mike sat at his desk, deep in thought. lately, el and him had abandoned the bathroom. he had stopped going to give quotes. his time was focused on el and how to save her. he couldn't lose her again. if he did, he wasn't sure if he could live with himself. sighing, he crumpled the piece of paper he was writing on and threw it into the garbage can.

el was going to die. and he could do nothing about it. she was going to sacrifice herself for him in the name of love. she was going to let herself die, so he could live.

eleven was going to give everything up, so he could have everything.

yet he was always reminded of the story of the queen. the queen who gained the throne, the favor of the people – everything she ever wanted – but she lost the one she loved. so in the end, she had everything, yet at the same time, she had nothing.

mike was the figurative queen, except he wasn't a queen. he was a peasant in that story. he had nothing to offer eleven, the girl who destroyed then carefully glued him back together.

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