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Summary
“You have extraordinary choices of words, my friend.” He leans in closer, still holding your jaw in one hand, “Smooth like honey, and as poisoned as my hands, you wreck my own soul into thousands of pieces. Even I cannot bend them easily.” You chuckle at his words while a small smile adorns his face, “Say to me now, is it a sin to keep you in my soul when you are dancing there as a delicate butterfly who refuses to die?”