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Summary
Stab. Slice. Twist.
Pulling him out of that damned rune was a mistake.
Twist. Dig. Curl.
His hand was so delectable, he should’ve just ended his life swiftly right then and there.
Curl. Chop. Gut.
He feels his mouth water as he imagines the taste of his fingers on his tongue. The hot wet of his blood coating sharp teeth.
Stab. Stab. Stab.Or perhaps it’s just the bile building up in his throat.

