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Date Posted: 05:39:31 11/05/03 Wed
Author: Mereret
Subject: :: My Hands Are At Your Throat And I Think I Hate You ::

:: Fractured wing clutched against her battered form, the furious monster sent the doors of the throne room cracking against the wall as she burst into the room. Her pale silver eyes were wild with rage and her demeanor took on a chill unknown to most. Silence. Not a sound was uttered from the wraith as her presense became known. Untamed raven locks falling across the matriarch's charred leather coverings, it was pretty obvious she was out for blood. Othoe's blood. No one struck her and made her act in the way she had been behaving. No one.::

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