The woman drew strands from the liquid, gradually weaving something unknown:
"Pain is the eternal theme of my life. After all, what did I do wrong? I simply didn't like to fight with the street thugs, preferred romance novels over knight tales, and adored dressing up dolls rather than worshipping shiny swords."
"Was I wrong?"
"Of course not."
"Although I can assertively answer this now, it is too late. The question 'was I wrong?' has haunted me for thirty years."
"Until that moist night."
"I had just finished my shift in a steel mill, stepping out from a pile of stinking men. Do you know? To secure this job, I had to pretend I was a man, shoulder to shoulder with them, cracking sexist jokes, enduring their smelly sweat. I know it's not their fault, but such a life..."
"Made me nauseous."
"I staggered out of the factory, just to bump into someone I never wished to see again in my lifetime."
"My childhood playmate, Adam."
