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Imagine your monstrous or killer f/o covered with splashes of blood.
It’s dripping off their hands, or claws, off their face, across their chest. It’s fresh, and bright, and the smell of it is almost overpowering as you stand before them.
They grab your wrist and pull you close to them, smearing the blood on your skin and clothes as they do.
They give you a little look, wondering what you think of them, perhaps.
And then they pull you into a kiss that tastes of copper.
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