The old woman critically surveyed her handiwork lying supine on the table. Her eyes were clear like quartz, and sharp like obsidian. The eerie sensation of feeling both hot and cold washed over her skin in tiny pin pricks. The old woman kneaded a calf, molded an elbow, defined a clavicle, and her long fingers dark with the color of clay, smoothed
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Oooh, your imagination is delicious.
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Wonderful and bewitching.
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You cut me off at the accusation of bias! I am overjoyed with your praise, talented woman.
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