Three people spilled into the room. Of letting that hot thickness go down my throat, and not struggling against it. The edge where a sharp voice might have pressed that trigger for me. Measurements do not lie.
The sides of his hands were bloody where he'd scrapped them on the carpet, like really bad rug burns. It sounds so harmless, so wholesome; it's neither. It wasn't perfect, but damn, it was close. It's why so few people use their animal form when they commit murder.
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