Oh, but you do scream so well. I try to avoid concerning myself with the visceral details of my work - the pulpy feeling of organs, the scent of blood is satisfying, but ought not to be distracting - yet with you.
As always, you are quite perfect. Rending you apart, I can almost forget myself. The table fades. The walls turn grey
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Answer.
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Tell me, have you discovered what you had forgotten, yet?
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And yet, I doubt that. You remember me, after all. And that is enough.
If you forget me, it will destroy you. You understand this, don't you?
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I can't remember.
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