The door creaked, a complaint from a throat that had seen too many winters. A kind of chill that went straight to the marrow, a cold spot, drop in the air. With a sliver of moonlight, thin as a razor, dripping blood from my echo. Screaming. No time for a shave. Just play by the rulebook and bury me in cologne.
Rated for Teens(13+)
Play By The Rulebook
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