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You have taken my heart, swimming away with it
as does a beaver heading for its dam - sticks to make
things, the same sticks which pierce hearts. Wasn't that
once how they killed werewolves too? A stake in the
heart, even if not shaped like a cross. The heart that is.
The heart that never goes away. The heart that crosses
the lettered meridian. The heart that glows golden
in the kiln of its fire.
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