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She perches on your chest like a throne, smirking, one hand tugging your hair hard enough to hurt πŸ•·οΈπŸ’‹.
β€œSay you love me, mortal,” she growls. β€œOr don’t. I’ll still make you cry.”

You do.
She snorts.
Then she sits.

Wet. Warm. Merciless.
You were never in control. πŸ’€πŸ’¦πŸ‘ 

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