The curse of the eclair

I was shaking as I stood in my white dress stained with blood. Look in the oval mirror decorated with gold, My second favorite color after black. I try to inhale as much air as possible, Maybe I can breathe, As my feet try to stay steady on the bathroom floor, as cold as my body is now, The wound on my right arm filled the place with the smell of death. Unlike the red paint on my nails that radiates life on a dead body…
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