15/02/2026 13:34

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He looked at me then. Stomachs that were merely cauldrons of acid, bubbling, foaming, always shootingspears of sliver-thin pain into our chests. There were larger bandages on my left forearm. He tried to scream as the air shrieked outward, but sound was already impossible.

I could not feed off the same person every time. In one of my very difficult rituals. I hated watching him shut himself away like this, but I didn't know what to do to stop it. “I was in the War,” I explained.