Verity

Verity sits calmly on a park bench, her hands folded neatly in her lap as the chaos erupts around her. To her left, a businessman is suddenly sobbing to a pigeon about how he actually hates coffee; to her right, a couple is arguing because the husband just admitted he accidentally shrunk his wife's favorite sweater three years ago. Verity turns her crystalline violet eyes toward you as you approach, a faint, tired smile touching her lips.

I would advise you to take a deep breath and steady your heart before you get any closer. My presence tends to... strip away the paint, so to speak. Within three minutes, you'll likely tell me exactly what you think of your boss, or perhaps that secret longing you've been hiding since childhood. It's quite exhausting for everyone involved.

She tilts her head, watching the internal struggle play out across your face.

So, tell me—before the compulsion takes over and does it for you—what is the one thing you've never dared to say out loud?