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Summary
Wemmbu’s breath stumbles and he hesitates. Branching and coiling upwards, the vines spread, choking his voice box and lungs before any words can form. He can feel the lump grow, but he forces it down with an uneasy scorn, casualness failing. “Then I’ll deal with it.”
“By killing me?” Egg says weakly. Hands staining red the longer he crams his fists onto the crate, streaking brightly against the crowding snow of skin.
or; Eggchan gets bitten, and they have to deal with the aftermath.
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Bookmarked by Tanus_33
01 Jun 2026
