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'It seems very pretty,' she said when she had finished it, 'but it's rather hard to understand!' (You see she didn't like to confess, even to herself, that she couldn't make it out at all.) 'Somehow it seems to fill my head with ideas— only I don't exactly know what they are! However, somebody killed something: that's clear, at any rate.'


daemori
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an artist who births an angelic pure face, soft, touchable skin, curious hands, sensitive fingers, strong legs, supple knees, delicate ankles, elegant feet, delicious arches, an ice frozen caricature of glowing, purest, cleanest, most virginal porcelains married to the far older, wiser, stronger marble but within her center she opens up ~ like fragile skeins of silk and frosted lace colored with slight, gentle whispers of red, the red of new blood, freshly filleted trills of a blood-starved chest cavity, succulent, sweet, slippery and wet; such longing sounds within that deafening beat, that trembling heart laid so open and bare, such a beautiful gift with such passion resounds, forever grateful to the artist who loved her so and for whom she now must willingly surrender that very heart which was created to forever love only him.





 
 
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