april
2nd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Dec 16, 2006
- Messages
- 1,254
- Points
- 63
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Sylus
The candlelight in your chambers burned low, the single flame breathing in slow pulses as if it sensed what you had done.
You should not have spoken the summoning words. Should not have risked drawing him here. Sylus was not a creature to be called lightly. Not with the gods curse coiled inside him like a serpant waiting to strike. Every moment you're near is an agony for him, his body drawn to yours in a cycle that offers no peace; resisting only sharpens the ache, indulging only deepens it. Its a divine torment woven into every fiber of him; a constant, unyielding arousal. Touching you feeds the fire until it becomes unbearable, then leaves him harder, needier than before.
Weeks ago, you had made him yield, touching him until the laughter tore free, until his control shattered, until he came for you. You had not forgotten. Neither had he.
And yet, desire had drowned reason. You wanted more.
The shadows along the far wall began to stir, pulling from the stone in liquid folds, deepening until blackness became something solid, something alive. The air chilled, heavy enough to weigh against your skin. The flame bent low as if bowing.
From the heart of that darkness, he stepped forth.
"You shouldn't have called me." His voice was low, even, but you heard the strain beneath it, the edge of something fraying.
You stepped closer, barefoot on the thick rug. His eyes tracked every movement, unblinking. When your fingers found his wrist, the smallest tremor betrayed him.
"Come," you said softly, not as a plea, but as inevitability.
He followed. Not because he wanted to, atleast not entirely, but because the curse already had its claws in him. Each step toward the bed was heavier, as though dragging him deeper into water he could not resist sinking into.
The candles glow quivered as you drew him to the edge of the bed, your hand still wrapped around his wrist. He stopped there, looming above you, shadows clinging to the sharp lines of his body.
You did not speak. You simply let your fingers trail from his wrist down to the inside of his forearm, over the subtle swell of muscle, until they caught against the hem of his coat. You held his gaze as you curled your fingers into the dark fabric and began to draw it away, inch by inch.
He did not help you. He did not stop you. But you could feel the fight in him; the tension in his shoulders, the restrained urge to reclaim the moment, the rigid stillness that said he was enduring more than he let show. The curse was already winding itself around him, stirring the heat beneath his skin.
As the coat slid down his arms, your fingertips grazed in feather-light arcs, teasing just enough to make him shift under your touch. His jaw tightened. You smiled faintly.
You moved to the buttons of his shirt, unfastening each with languid precision, brushing your knuckles over the skin revealed, dragging your nails lightly down his sides, between each undone clasp. The sound he made was nearly silent; half breath, half laugh, but his body betrayed him, a faint shiver running through him as you parted the fabric.
His shirt slid from his shoulders, your fingers following it down, tracing, curling, tickling along the ridges of his ribs. You felt the way his abdomen tightened under your hands, not from cold, but from the strain of holding himself still. His breathing had changed; slower, heavier, as though each inhale cost him something.
By the time you reached his belt, you knew. He was allowing you this. Fighting to allow it. Every slow stroke, every fleeting tickle was another chain binding him to your will.
And you had only just begun to strip him of his defenses.
Your fingers make quick work of the rest of his clothing, each slow, deliberate tug stripping away another layer of defiance. When the last of the fabric falls from his body, you cant help the curl of satisfaction on your lips; hes already hard.
And still...he refuses to give you the satisfaction of laughter.
You tilt your head, eyes locked on his, and then without warning, you slide your hand down and touch him exactly where he would least expect it, fingernails skirting gently against his scrotum and along the length of his shaft, in a maddening, feathery tickle. The reaction is instant.
His whole body jolts backwards against the mattress, silver eyes flashing as a strangled laugh bursts from his lips; raw, unwillingly dragged from somewhere deep. The sound is sharp and rare, a slip in the armor he had sworn not to let crack.
You follow him forward, pressing your advantage, your knees bracketing his hips as you climb above him. Your smirk blooms slow and wicked, your gaze drinking in the faint flush that rises along the line of his throat.
"Sit back against the headboard," you murmur, voice low but threaded with command. "Or there will be more of that."
If looks could kill, his glare would have cut you where you sat. But after a heartbeats pause, he obeys, graceful even in defeat, sliding back along the mattress, until his spine meets the carved headboard. He sits upright against it, jaw tense, chest rising in measured breaths.
"Call your shadows."
The order hangs between you like a blade. You see the hesitation; the smallest flicker of worry ghost across his features before it vanishes beneath that perfect, unreadable mask. His eyes narrow a fraction, and then with a sharp flick of his wrist, the air around you stirs.
They come fast. Faster than he intended.
The shadows surge forward like living smoke, black tendrils lashing around his wrists with violent precision. The force snaps his arms outward, stretching them wide to either side of the headboard. The impact jolts through him, stealing his breath, forcing a low grunt from deep in his chest. The sight of him; pale, perfect, restrained...makes the power hum under your skin.
"Ankles." You remind him.
His eyes roll, the gesture slow and deliberate, but you catch the muttered words that spill under his breath; ancient syllables that taste like command and surrender all at once. From the base of the bed, more shadows rise, coiling in sinuous arcs before they strike, winding around his ankles. They tighten with a strength that pulls his legs wide, spreading him open into a perfect V. The bed groans under the strain, the darkness itself holding him for you, his own magic turned against him.
You settle between his legs, nails gliding up the inside of his thighs. "Still trying to be still for me?" You murmur. His glare doesnt waver, but his hips twitch forward when you drag slower, closer. "Mmm...I can feel you fighting it. I love when you fight."
Your hand wraps loosely around his shaft, stroking once, painfully slow, from base to tip. You lingered at the crown, thumb pressing, just enough to make his breath hitch, then glide back down in a lazy rhythm. Each stroke is measured, never too fast, never enough, pulling him upward without giving him anywhere to land.
Then you leave him. Your fingers slide beneath, cupping him gently before your nails begin their feather-light torment over the stretched, sensitive skin of his sac. He jolts violently, a sudden gasp from his throat that breaks into ragged laughter. His knees strain to close, but the shadows keep him spread.
"No...please, not there..."
"Not here?" Your nails swirling slowly, teasing every contour, while your other hand drifts back up to stroke him, just enough to make his hips push toward you. "This is exactly where, Sylus."
You work him in a cycle; slow, deep strokes up his length until you feel his pulse hammer in your palm, then a sudden shift to the light, maddening tickle below that makes him jerk, laugh, and curse. Every time you take him higher, you pull back at the brink, forcing him to sink back into that unbearable ache.
Hes breathing harder now, each inhale rough, silver eyes wild. "Please...ah...fuck, dont stop...dont..." His voice cracks between moans and laughter, the curse turning every sensation sharper, hotter, impossible to separate.
You lean in, breath warm against his ear as your nails return to that most vulnerable place. "I could keep you here all night," you whisper, stroking him just enough to feel the tension coil deep in his belly, only to retreat again, leaving him trembling, leaking, and nowhere near relief.
And the longer you draw it out, the more you feel it; his control fraying, his body begging in ways his pride never would.
You sit back on your heels, hands falling away entirely. He's flushed now, skin sheaning with sweat, pupils blown wide, every breath pulled too fast, too deep. You have him in a choke hold.
"Please," he gasps, voice hoarse. "Please just dont...dont leave me like this. I cant..." His head tips back against the wood with a thud, his legs pulling futily against the restraints. "Its killing me...please, I need your hands...gods, I can't stand it."
You giggle softly, sweet and cruel. Your eyes flicker to his cock, now flush and swollen from straining, from far too much tension. "Would you like me to help you with that?" Voice like honey, tilting your head as though you dont already know the answer.
"Yes...yes, gods yes." His voice breaks entirely, desperation raw in every word. "I'll do anything, anything. Just...please."
As you slide your hands slowly back up his thighs, you lean in close, as if to brush your lips against his. His breath quickens the closer your hands crawl upwards. His eyes plead with yours, beeseching you to end his torment. But instead of granting him mercy, you lift your hands and place them flat against his abdomen; your fingers instantly darting into quick, relentless, merciless tickles. You dig into each ridge of muscle, pressing just enough to make him convulse. The reaction is explosive; his breathless groans spiral into ragged laughter, his body twisting hard against the shadows.
"Ah! F-fuck, stop! Fucking stop, please!" The words tumble between gasps and helpless, choking laughter, his stomach flexing under the touch as if it could shield him.
"You wanted my hands, my love," you purr, fingertips dancing, faithfully sweeping over every inch of his torso. "I'm helping, just as you wanted me too."
His head shakes wildly, laughter spilling uncontrollably now, his voice fractured and raw. "No! No...please! Thats not...Stop!"
He watches you helplessly as you smile wider, observing him shatter piece by piece, unsure if mercy is anywhere in sight.
Your fingers pull back from his abs in an instant, and before he can catch his breath, they're already slipping down between his legs. The shift is so fast, his whole body lurches...and then you're on him, cupping him, your nails dragging lazy circles over the tender skin of his sac, alternating with the soft flicker and teasing scratches.
The effect is immediate and violent. Sylus yells, a raw, gutteral sound that tears from deep in his chest. His thighs fight hard against the shadows, his hips jerking as though he could fling you away.
"FUCK! STOP!...AH...STOP!" His voice cracks into anguished laughter that burns with panic, pure helplessness twisting the sound.
"You're losing it," you murmur, almost sweetly, nails circling over the most sensitive spots. "What if I just..." your other hand joins in tandem, leaving no space untouched by torment, holding him open to every flicker of sensation.
"I'll kill you!" He screamed between gasps and laughter, the curse sharpening every reaction into unbearable intensity. "You...fuck! Ahhh..STOP!" The words dissolve into another scream-laugh as you scratch lightly along the seam, feeling every muscle in his legs quake.
The shadows bite tighter as he fights them, wrists flexing so hard you can see the strain in his forearms, his stormy, silver eyes blazing with a feral mix of fury and desperation.
"Please...please! Enough! I can't..." hes begging shamelessly now, every syllable broken by panting breath or powerless laughter. "Fuck! No, please! I'll do anything..."
You break off the tickling without warning, only to wrap both hands firmly around his shaft, gripping him without hesitation, pumping hard and fast, so sudden, so intense, it forces a strangled groan from deep in his chest.
Sylus's head snapped back, mouth falling open in shock at the sheer, relentless pace. His hips drove upward instinctively, chasing every stroke, shadows creaking as he pulls against them with desperate strength.
You can feel his pulse throbbing in your grip, the heat of him building fast, every muscle in his body drawn tight like a bowstring. His eyes locked onto yours, frantic and pleading, pride burned away by need. "Don't...dont stop, please..." The words spill out, shameless and panic-strikken, breath breaking into uneven bursts as his release surges closer and closer.
He's completely yours now, ready to pop in a breaths second.
And you let go before he can.
He explodes. A ragged snarl tears from his throat, piercing and feral, the kind of sound that vibrates with barely contained violence. Words tumble out; half curses, half threats, but they break under the weight of his rage, warping into something too raw to name.
You fall back onto the bed, grinning, chest heaving, adrenaline spiking, drunk on the control you've wielded.
"You witch!" He spits, and the shadows thrash violently against their binds as if they too are desperate to tear you apart. "I'll ruin you. Ill..."
But the words falter. Frustration twists his beautiful face into something inhuman; desperation and rage braided tightly together.
You let him writhe in the restraints until his breathing steadies into fixed, controlled pulls of air. Hes glaring at you now, eyes molten, wild, vicious. And for the first time, a flicker of unease runs through you.
"Let me go. Now." His voice was too low. It's not a request. It's a verdict. The game is over.
You swallow hard, forcing levity into your voice. "What'll you do to me?"
He doesn't blink. He doesn't breathe. The silence stretches until it feels like the air itself is shrinking around you.
You thoughtlessly whisper the incantation. The shadows recoil from his limbs like smoke. The moment the bonds melt away, you turn to bolt.
But hes already free.
The air shifts, and then hes on you. His body slams into yours with a speed that makes your breath vanish. Your back hits the mattress, and hes above you, braced over your head, caging you in with a predators precision. His breath is hot, ragged, falling against your cheek; his eyes burn with a promise you can't quite decide is lust or savagery.
"You think you know what it means to play with me?" His voice is low, serrated. His grip tightens, the bedframe groaning under the force. "I could strip you of every last breath, every last thought, until all you remember to do is scream my name."
His mouth dips, close enough that you feel the ghost of his lips at your ear. "And you'd beg me for it."
The shadows rise at the edges of your vision, curling and twisting until the world beyond the bed dissappears entirely. And in that thick, living dark, one truth coils in your chest; the game isn't yours anymore.
Sylus
The candlelight in your chambers burned low, the single flame breathing in slow pulses as if it sensed what you had done.
You should not have spoken the summoning words. Should not have risked drawing him here. Sylus was not a creature to be called lightly. Not with the gods curse coiled inside him like a serpant waiting to strike. Every moment you're near is an agony for him, his body drawn to yours in a cycle that offers no peace; resisting only sharpens the ache, indulging only deepens it. Its a divine torment woven into every fiber of him; a constant, unyielding arousal. Touching you feeds the fire until it becomes unbearable, then leaves him harder, needier than before.
Weeks ago, you had made him yield, touching him until the laughter tore free, until his control shattered, until he came for you. You had not forgotten. Neither had he.
And yet, desire had drowned reason. You wanted more.
The shadows along the far wall began to stir, pulling from the stone in liquid folds, deepening until blackness became something solid, something alive. The air chilled, heavy enough to weigh against your skin. The flame bent low as if bowing.
From the heart of that darkness, he stepped forth.
"You shouldn't have called me." His voice was low, even, but you heard the strain beneath it, the edge of something fraying.
You stepped closer, barefoot on the thick rug. His eyes tracked every movement, unblinking. When your fingers found his wrist, the smallest tremor betrayed him.
"Come," you said softly, not as a plea, but as inevitability.
He followed. Not because he wanted to, atleast not entirely, but because the curse already had its claws in him. Each step toward the bed was heavier, as though dragging him deeper into water he could not resist sinking into.
The candles glow quivered as you drew him to the edge of the bed, your hand still wrapped around his wrist. He stopped there, looming above you, shadows clinging to the sharp lines of his body.
You did not speak. You simply let your fingers trail from his wrist down to the inside of his forearm, over the subtle swell of muscle, until they caught against the hem of his coat. You held his gaze as you curled your fingers into the dark fabric and began to draw it away, inch by inch.
He did not help you. He did not stop you. But you could feel the fight in him; the tension in his shoulders, the restrained urge to reclaim the moment, the rigid stillness that said he was enduring more than he let show. The curse was already winding itself around him, stirring the heat beneath his skin.
As the coat slid down his arms, your fingertips grazed in feather-light arcs, teasing just enough to make him shift under your touch. His jaw tightened. You smiled faintly.
You moved to the buttons of his shirt, unfastening each with languid precision, brushing your knuckles over the skin revealed, dragging your nails lightly down his sides, between each undone clasp. The sound he made was nearly silent; half breath, half laugh, but his body betrayed him, a faint shiver running through him as you parted the fabric.
His shirt slid from his shoulders, your fingers following it down, tracing, curling, tickling along the ridges of his ribs. You felt the way his abdomen tightened under your hands, not from cold, but from the strain of holding himself still. His breathing had changed; slower, heavier, as though each inhale cost him something.
By the time you reached his belt, you knew. He was allowing you this. Fighting to allow it. Every slow stroke, every fleeting tickle was another chain binding him to your will.
And you had only just begun to strip him of his defenses.
Your fingers make quick work of the rest of his clothing, each slow, deliberate tug stripping away another layer of defiance. When the last of the fabric falls from his body, you cant help the curl of satisfaction on your lips; hes already hard.
And still...he refuses to give you the satisfaction of laughter.
You tilt your head, eyes locked on his, and then without warning, you slide your hand down and touch him exactly where he would least expect it, fingernails skirting gently against his scrotum and along the length of his shaft, in a maddening, feathery tickle. The reaction is instant.
His whole body jolts backwards against the mattress, silver eyes flashing as a strangled laugh bursts from his lips; raw, unwillingly dragged from somewhere deep. The sound is sharp and rare, a slip in the armor he had sworn not to let crack.
You follow him forward, pressing your advantage, your knees bracketing his hips as you climb above him. Your smirk blooms slow and wicked, your gaze drinking in the faint flush that rises along the line of his throat.
"Sit back against the headboard," you murmur, voice low but threaded with command. "Or there will be more of that."
If looks could kill, his glare would have cut you where you sat. But after a heartbeats pause, he obeys, graceful even in defeat, sliding back along the mattress, until his spine meets the carved headboard. He sits upright against it, jaw tense, chest rising in measured breaths.
"Call your shadows."
The order hangs between you like a blade. You see the hesitation; the smallest flicker of worry ghost across his features before it vanishes beneath that perfect, unreadable mask. His eyes narrow a fraction, and then with a sharp flick of his wrist, the air around you stirs.
They come fast. Faster than he intended.
The shadows surge forward like living smoke, black tendrils lashing around his wrists with violent precision. The force snaps his arms outward, stretching them wide to either side of the headboard. The impact jolts through him, stealing his breath, forcing a low grunt from deep in his chest. The sight of him; pale, perfect, restrained...makes the power hum under your skin.
"Ankles." You remind him.
His eyes roll, the gesture slow and deliberate, but you catch the muttered words that spill under his breath; ancient syllables that taste like command and surrender all at once. From the base of the bed, more shadows rise, coiling in sinuous arcs before they strike, winding around his ankles. They tighten with a strength that pulls his legs wide, spreading him open into a perfect V. The bed groans under the strain, the darkness itself holding him for you, his own magic turned against him.
You settle between his legs, nails gliding up the inside of his thighs. "Still trying to be still for me?" You murmur. His glare doesnt waver, but his hips twitch forward when you drag slower, closer. "Mmm...I can feel you fighting it. I love when you fight."
Your hand wraps loosely around his shaft, stroking once, painfully slow, from base to tip. You lingered at the crown, thumb pressing, just enough to make his breath hitch, then glide back down in a lazy rhythm. Each stroke is measured, never too fast, never enough, pulling him upward without giving him anywhere to land.
Then you leave him. Your fingers slide beneath, cupping him gently before your nails begin their feather-light torment over the stretched, sensitive skin of his sac. He jolts violently, a sudden gasp from his throat that breaks into ragged laughter. His knees strain to close, but the shadows keep him spread.
"No...please, not there..."
"Not here?" Your nails swirling slowly, teasing every contour, while your other hand drifts back up to stroke him, just enough to make his hips push toward you. "This is exactly where, Sylus."
You work him in a cycle; slow, deep strokes up his length until you feel his pulse hammer in your palm, then a sudden shift to the light, maddening tickle below that makes him jerk, laugh, and curse. Every time you take him higher, you pull back at the brink, forcing him to sink back into that unbearable ache.
Hes breathing harder now, each inhale rough, silver eyes wild. "Please...ah...fuck, dont stop...dont..." His voice cracks between moans and laughter, the curse turning every sensation sharper, hotter, impossible to separate.
You lean in, breath warm against his ear as your nails return to that most vulnerable place. "I could keep you here all night," you whisper, stroking him just enough to feel the tension coil deep in his belly, only to retreat again, leaving him trembling, leaking, and nowhere near relief.
And the longer you draw it out, the more you feel it; his control fraying, his body begging in ways his pride never would.
You sit back on your heels, hands falling away entirely. He's flushed now, skin sheaning with sweat, pupils blown wide, every breath pulled too fast, too deep. You have him in a choke hold.
"Please," he gasps, voice hoarse. "Please just dont...dont leave me like this. I cant..." His head tips back against the wood with a thud, his legs pulling futily against the restraints. "Its killing me...please, I need your hands...gods, I can't stand it."
You giggle softly, sweet and cruel. Your eyes flicker to his cock, now flush and swollen from straining, from far too much tension. "Would you like me to help you with that?" Voice like honey, tilting your head as though you dont already know the answer.
"Yes...yes, gods yes." His voice breaks entirely, desperation raw in every word. "I'll do anything, anything. Just...please."
As you slide your hands slowly back up his thighs, you lean in close, as if to brush your lips against his. His breath quickens the closer your hands crawl upwards. His eyes plead with yours, beeseching you to end his torment. But instead of granting him mercy, you lift your hands and place them flat against his abdomen; your fingers instantly darting into quick, relentless, merciless tickles. You dig into each ridge of muscle, pressing just enough to make him convulse. The reaction is explosive; his breathless groans spiral into ragged laughter, his body twisting hard against the shadows.
"Ah! F-fuck, stop! Fucking stop, please!" The words tumble between gasps and helpless, choking laughter, his stomach flexing under the touch as if it could shield him.
"You wanted my hands, my love," you purr, fingertips dancing, faithfully sweeping over every inch of his torso. "I'm helping, just as you wanted me too."
His head shakes wildly, laughter spilling uncontrollably now, his voice fractured and raw. "No! No...please! Thats not...Stop!"
He watches you helplessly as you smile wider, observing him shatter piece by piece, unsure if mercy is anywhere in sight.
Your fingers pull back from his abs in an instant, and before he can catch his breath, they're already slipping down between his legs. The shift is so fast, his whole body lurches...and then you're on him, cupping him, your nails dragging lazy circles over the tender skin of his sac, alternating with the soft flicker and teasing scratches.
The effect is immediate and violent. Sylus yells, a raw, gutteral sound that tears from deep in his chest. His thighs fight hard against the shadows, his hips jerking as though he could fling you away.
"FUCK! STOP!...AH...STOP!" His voice cracks into anguished laughter that burns with panic, pure helplessness twisting the sound.
"You're losing it," you murmur, almost sweetly, nails circling over the most sensitive spots. "What if I just..." your other hand joins in tandem, leaving no space untouched by torment, holding him open to every flicker of sensation.
"I'll kill you!" He screamed between gasps and laughter, the curse sharpening every reaction into unbearable intensity. "You...fuck! Ahhh..STOP!" The words dissolve into another scream-laugh as you scratch lightly along the seam, feeling every muscle in his legs quake.
The shadows bite tighter as he fights them, wrists flexing so hard you can see the strain in his forearms, his stormy, silver eyes blazing with a feral mix of fury and desperation.
"Please...please! Enough! I can't..." hes begging shamelessly now, every syllable broken by panting breath or powerless laughter. "Fuck! No, please! I'll do anything..."
You break off the tickling without warning, only to wrap both hands firmly around his shaft, gripping him without hesitation, pumping hard and fast, so sudden, so intense, it forces a strangled groan from deep in his chest.
Sylus's head snapped back, mouth falling open in shock at the sheer, relentless pace. His hips drove upward instinctively, chasing every stroke, shadows creaking as he pulls against them with desperate strength.
You can feel his pulse throbbing in your grip, the heat of him building fast, every muscle in his body drawn tight like a bowstring. His eyes locked onto yours, frantic and pleading, pride burned away by need. "Don't...dont stop, please..." The words spill out, shameless and panic-strikken, breath breaking into uneven bursts as his release surges closer and closer.
He's completely yours now, ready to pop in a breaths second.
And you let go before he can.
He explodes. A ragged snarl tears from his throat, piercing and feral, the kind of sound that vibrates with barely contained violence. Words tumble out; half curses, half threats, but they break under the weight of his rage, warping into something too raw to name.
You fall back onto the bed, grinning, chest heaving, adrenaline spiking, drunk on the control you've wielded.
"You witch!" He spits, and the shadows thrash violently against their binds as if they too are desperate to tear you apart. "I'll ruin you. Ill..."
But the words falter. Frustration twists his beautiful face into something inhuman; desperation and rage braided tightly together.
You let him writhe in the restraints until his breathing steadies into fixed, controlled pulls of air. Hes glaring at you now, eyes molten, wild, vicious. And for the first time, a flicker of unease runs through you.
"Let me go. Now." His voice was too low. It's not a request. It's a verdict. The game is over.
You swallow hard, forcing levity into your voice. "What'll you do to me?"
He doesn't blink. He doesn't breathe. The silence stretches until it feels like the air itself is shrinking around you.
You thoughtlessly whisper the incantation. The shadows recoil from his limbs like smoke. The moment the bonds melt away, you turn to bolt.
But hes already free.
The air shifts, and then hes on you. His body slams into yours with a speed that makes your breath vanish. Your back hits the mattress, and hes above you, braced over your head, caging you in with a predators precision. His breath is hot, ragged, falling against your cheek; his eyes burn with a promise you can't quite decide is lust or savagery.
"You think you know what it means to play with me?" His voice is low, serrated. His grip tightens, the bedframe groaning under the force. "I could strip you of every last breath, every last thought, until all you remember to do is scream my name."
His mouth dips, close enough that you feel the ghost of his lips at your ear. "And you'd beg me for it."
The shadows rise at the edges of your vision, curling and twisting until the world beyond the bed dissappears entirely. And in that thick, living dark, one truth coils in your chest; the game isn't yours anymore.
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