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bytch roams, staying far from the boundary of the dimension. why go there? so he can put a leash on me? wretch studies the inhabitants. what a dead party. hock kisser dangles as scent of estrus is captured. fragments cloud vision as juncture snaps to bulk of frame. warm carbon dioxide is sent out as oxygen is recieved. fulcrums fold and release themselves as the rythym is established. time to stur up some dust. time to get a party going. and greet the unlucky souls that had the blessing of her presence.
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