Sometimes, life ties you down.
Literally. On a bed. Face down.
But that’s just the beginning of a beautifully bizarre journey.
There she is — the heroine of our tale.
A stunning young woman, lying gracefully across a bed like a fashionably restrained Renaissance muse.
Her arms? Behind her back.
Her legs? Also tied.
Her vibe? Somewhere between calm, amused, and “why is this happening?”
And then… enters the finger.
Yes. Just one.
No face. No identity.
It appears from offscreen like an unsolicited thought at 3 a.m. —
And it heads straight… for her ear.
“Surely not. He wouldn’t.”
“He did.”
The finger pokes into her ear.
Delicately. Mischievously. With unwavering purpose.
She flinches. She squirms. She glares with the power of ten untied souls.
Her face becomes a cinematic masterpiece of expression:
From “What is this nonsense?” to “If I had my hands, this would be war.”
But alas, the hands are bound.
And the ear… is vulnerable.
The poking continues.
Slow. Steady. Relentless.
An intimate invasion with absolutely no logical justification.
Meanwhile, in the background, music plays — or is that just the soundtrack of surrealism?
Jazz? Lofi? Wind chimes of destiny?
The moment stretches out like a Dalí clock —
The absurd becomes eternal.
In another universe, this would be a postmodern ballet.
In this one, it’s simply Remtalina being Remtalina.
And somewhere, a philosopher writes:
“True freedom is keeping your cool when you’re tied up and someone’s poking your ear.”
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