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Summary
The sign of your pact is engraved into the flesh of his right palm, smooth and tattooed in a way. Mammon presses the finger of his left hand to it, a steady thumping vibrating against his fingertip.
Slowly, it forms into a steady heartbeat, and Mammon’s lips curl into a contented grin. You’re safe, you’re just fine up there. ‘But I wanted ya down here.’
