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Summary
Shadow Milk was used to being trapped. Being confined. He has grown bored of the game, fighting back and trying to obtain his freedom. Never once had he ever lost hope of achieving that.
Not until now. This really was the worse fate for him. Left to rot underneath the laughing and happy people above, all the while he was broke and used, again.
That sweet deceptively kind smile that ripped him apart, tearing through his skin and borrowing somewhere he thought was sacred. A corner untouchable until Pure Vanilla.
And there was no escaping it.