My hands are idle instruments to the voices inside that tell of such wonderful crimson delights. It screams endlessly for the sweet tantalizing promise of fantastical violence. And who am I to deny such wanton desires?
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My hands are idle instruments to the voices inside that tell of such wonderful crimson delights. It screams endlessly for the sweet tantalizing promise of fantastical violence. And who am I to deny such wanton desires?
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