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I told him the mud wrap was a spiritual cleansing, but I really just wanted to see if his composure would crack under the silt.
He tasted like cold rain and the expensive, botanical gin he knew I kept behind the crystal decanters for exactly this kind of disaster.
Your thumb is currently tracing the seam of my stockings under this table, and I am quite certain the Countess is watching.
I was a tourist in his tragedy, standing in a limestone cellar that smelled of old wood and new sins.