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Post by weewatto on Oct 31, 2011 14:30:38 GMT
Having said that all is well, I curl a fatal constriction around your sleeping form, liquored vapour rising in your witless, fitless slumber. Nevermore your generous fists to fly, creating a blooming vellum of my hide. Evermore your soured breath is ceased - only pity now, not sanguineous torture, surrounds me to pour scorn on the flaccid, contemptible clay you once sought to improve.
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Post by Daphne on Oct 31, 2011 18:03:14 GMT
I wouldn't want to bet on that spelling of sanguin... whatever.
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Post by weewatto on Nov 2, 2011 11:03:30 GMT
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