[There aren't that many pleasant memories to speak of in Amoral's life. Just people he dislikes, and duties. The one that catches his attention, however, is of a child's frame, curled up in the corner of a street, bleeding from the forehead.]
Do they ever close? Or are they waiting for the next reader to come along?
[She takes nothing, but the feeling of her witch-magic moving within him is slimy, unsettling, nauseating. Like a large sewer rat slithering through his veins and up the ladder of his spine.]
[He hunches over, only slightly, fingers tightening into a curl. It takes a couple of seconds before he starts to move away from Mary, his hands clawing at the pictures to tear them down from the wall. His voice becomes a little hoarse.]
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How charming, Amoral.
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Amoral looks ashamed.]
Cross.
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It's very sweet. Look at how he bleeds.
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Thing. Wwwrong co--lor.
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Don't cry, little Amoral.
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Closed ch--cha...pter. With thhhe wind.
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[She takes nothing, but the feeling of her witch-magic moving within him is slimy, unsettling, nauseating. Like a large sewer rat slithering through his veins and up the ladder of his spine.]
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Other way, w-walk the other wwwaay.
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Someone like you.
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