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22. Feb 2005|15:50 |
to be as she
it is a night of sorrow, a song of darkness, wolves vent their cry. The thirsting one awakes.
evil shrouds her gaunt form, an everlasting wrath.
her inky black hair cascades over pale and tragic shoulders, and her full red lips part slightly, to taste the darkness streaming from the pale flesh beneath her.
now a night of taking, I remember her.
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