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Summary
James did not believe in the devil but rather something worse — a faceless butcher that lurked the corners of his nightmares, mute and waiting. It whispered a panacea for that most insidious of intimate hungers: the masochistic need to deconstruct the self.
No — not deconstruct but destroy, annihilation.
Or: digging around Jame's morbid, masochistic brain to learn what makes it tick. There's a lot of unresolved trauma in there, apparently. Mind the tags.