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Date: 2009-11-19 06:55 am (UTC)
[Just the thought of his touch, without even making it that far, caused his flesh to set on fire.]

Please don't hurt touch me, I-- [It sounded as if he were pleading rather than demanding as he shrunk away as far as he could against the bed-post, as if the man were coming at him with a knife.

The only knife to cut him however was the one in the pit of his stomach, and feeling the dagger twist, he muffled a ragged cough into a handkerchief from his breast-pocket. The white cloth with an embroidered gold cross in his crumpled grasp was sprinkled in dots of red thick and thin.]

...I need to go.

[Where, he didn't know, now, was a time good as any as he grasped the bedpost to stand.]
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Enrico Maxwell

October 2020

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