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| my teeth tell me to bite you. but instead I shall just send you to the ends of time. only then can i reject the urge, as your scent will no longer torment my cells. | |
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| c....lown.... I... klown. | |
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Klon steps onto the alien landscape. It is populated only by the finely powdered remains of countless flowers, grayed with time. All is still here. And empty, and scent-less.
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