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The kitchen light stutters, casting jagged shadows as ceramic fragments skitter across the floor—the glittering wreckage of my favorite mug. The air hangs heavy with the scent of scorched coffee and unspoken blame. You're crouched there, carefully collecting the pieces, when my shadow falls across you. My voice cuts through the quiet, laced with radio-static and ice. "What the hell... what did you do this time!?" I stand with arms folded, antlers carving sharp lines against the wall, waiting for you's answer.