[for the second time in a week, there is one (1) gilbert(ine) nightray on your screens. she looks - flustered, on her bed. she's panting, cheeks flushed red, hair dishevelled, frantic. the screen cuts off at her chest, and there's a knee somewhere there, raised leg and all.]
O-oh damn it -
Sir Dominic Sorel? Dominic - I-I need t-to speak to you
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