The Meaning of Freedom - a speculative dollhouse story

She loved Vancouver and she loved to dance...
under the moody rusted fire escapes, along the wide alleys behind the back of tenements and with the chill wind catching her skirts. The sun like another flashbulb popping on and off between shutters of cloud. The music around her and the underlying traffic drone just another murmur of appreciation as she balanced her body backwards, as she flung out an arm, as she rippled and twisted with liquid grace. There was always freedom in dancing, in movement, in her body.
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