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Something ugly and cruel crawls out of her throat. It's slick and shiny with pointy, bloodthirsty edges. It crawls up and up and spews from her perfect, red-lipped mouth. And it never misses its target. There is never anything in her eyes Nothing in her face nor voice nor air but faint pleasure Nothing that acknowledges the spilling blood or the pain It is nothing but cool aloofness Searing the wound with a chilling, fiery vengeance