for those that wish to exist
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"Tis a form of suffering," he murmured against the side of her face near where the curve of her horn met scales; the softest and most sensitive part of her head that she had made the happy mistake of revealing to him one morning. His thumb traced her jawline, the metal warm against her face which made the cold in its absence much sharper. "Having to act as though I remain unaffected by you, when I am anything but."
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- Part 1 of for those that wish to exist
