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They call her The Bitch. She is after all a dog.

When She walked down the streets, all the Basset Hounds and Barbets turned away from licking their bones and stared at hers. They’d all line up on the pavements of Paris barking at midnight. That’s when She takes her stroll. She loves the pathway by the Seine. The lucky dogs there would think She was in love with them but, poor dogs, they had no idea. She loved walking by the Seine because She could contemplate her beauty within the waters of the river, her reflection was her ultimate and eternal love.

One midnight, She was walking elegantly, as usual, when She heard a louder than usual bark. But it was not loud. Actually it was quite soft and soothing, that’s why She noticed it. She was about to turn around to find the artist but her pride awakened. She kept walking on, staring at her reflection but thinking about him. Her lust was boiling, battling against her pride for 24 seconds. Then it was over. She turned around.

All the dogs stopped barking. Except one. He was hiding behind the biggest dog. Is he afraid? She thought. She approached the source of the music but as She took her third step, the music stopped. He had just realized that the other dogs had stopped barking, he had just sensed something unusual was happening. He stood quietly behind the biggest dog.

She kept walking even when the music stopped. When She was finally standing right in front of the biggest dog, She waited. All the other dogs took a few steps backwards, almost staggering, they couldn’t believe She was standing so close.

The biggest dog was so close to fainting. But he took a step to the right, revealing the artist.

All the dogs barked unanimously. The biggest dog fainted. The air around gasped. The artist was an identical copy of The Bitch. For a moment, the dogs thought they were hallucinating. But when the artist walked forward, approaching The Bitch, they knew for certain, it was no mirror effect. The Bitch stood wide-eyed, incredulously pensive. The encounter was beautifully awkward.

The dogs from the Seine never forgot that midnight. The Bitch never came back to walk along that pathway. No one saw the artist anymore. The dogs from the Seine never forgot that midnight.

One dog, the one who stood right next to the biggest dog, never forgot the way The Bitch clawed the artist in the eye and lunged at her, pushing her into the Seine. He never forgot the way She ran to watch the artist yelp helplessly. He never forgot the way She look at her own reflection drown. The Bitch couldn’t stand another bitch.

The artist was a bitch. And She couldn’t stand another bitch with such an ethereal gift; music.

They still call her The Bitch. She was the only one.