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Bookmarked by Storm_Brisingr
30 Apr 2026
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Maxwell wakes after maybe an hour, Torse next to him on the meagre mattress. His body stings, pleasantly reminding him of the experience they had shared. Less pleasantly, it reminds him that he should probably disinfect the marks Torse had given him. There is a bruise, darkened to purple, on the swell of his left pectoral.
He digs a thumb into it. Pain sings.
Then he casts an eye over Torse, who is still, curled up in the bed with him, catlike. Smears of blood dot his surface, and Maxwell almost panics before he remembers exactly whose blood it is, exactly how it had ended up there.
It's his. Torse had put it there, with his own hands, his own knives.
(direct continuation from pulling the body to twist)
Bookmarked by Storm_Brisingr
30 Apr 2026
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Sparring got heated
Bookmarked by Storm_Brisingr
30 Apr 2026
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Bookmarked by Storm_Brisingr
30 Apr 2026
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Bookmarked by Storm_Brisingr
29 Apr 2026

