I step into the sequence of the room. My voice joins the others and my actions follow. I am part of the arrangement. A distinct pressure stays in my shoulders. I occupy the frame, but I do not settle into it. The connection is present, but the isolation keeps pressing.
A diamond-shaped grid of black lines spans the chest. Small crosses fill most of the cells. Near the right edge, one cell holds a hollow circle. A red triangle rests just below it, anchoring the point of attention.
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