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Summary
He’d looked down at her with something like love in his eyes, when she’d bitten off his finger, choked on his acrid, irradiated blood. Now that right there is the closest thing we’ve had to an honest exchange so far, the knife paring skin and flesh and muscle and nerve and bone as easily as if she were a peach, ready to bake and devour.
As he prepares to defile her, there’s nothing left in the Ghoul but hatred.
or: lucy earns a drink of water the hard way.