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e dug into my skin, a constant, physical r
had almost tasted freedom, only to
at first; his silence was always
his voice a smooth vibration that set my teeth on e
ing, or that the fractured pieces of my destroyed
ith a defiant chin, "May
led, not the man who saw me only
from the day he broke my drawing han
on the mark, "You met with someone. You think there' s a
ing; he was right – I met Marcus Thorn
hope was just
t as monstrous and possessive as my captor, see
weeks before Alexander' s grand "Aion Project" launc
ulated play for freedom, was n
overing how deep
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