|[PRIVATE / CURSED EXTREMELY HACKABLE]|
It's restless again, prowling in the back of my mind, sick with whispers and waiting. Hackles raised and on the edge of readiness, hard and sharp-- a deep and sickening coil of razor edges and slick turns. Always waiting. Always restrained, where I'd rather let us loose. Half animal, half artist, aching
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Comments 54
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[pause, as he notices the privacyfail and tries to fix it in vain. Siiigh.]
Just bored.
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Murder isn't art.
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Not always.
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Are you planning on killing someone?
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If I were, would I be talking about it?
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