Bludgeon…dreamed. It was all he had left to him and that, even, snatches that seemed increasingly unreal. The only thing that seemed real was pain-the hot, scorching pain of the grafts, a fire that consumed nothing but his sanity.
Sometimes, he remembered who he was. Sometimes he remembered a name, a face. He remembered words, a voice, snatches of
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ETA: First one - chilling. Endless non-death? *shudders*
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*re-reads*
Yeah, I'll just leave these here:
♥♥♥♥
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