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Death (Site not responding. Last check: 2007-10-17) |
 | | Mandrake turns his face to lay the warm white of his cheek against the side of yours, his temple pressed to vanilla silk bangs, the physical touch letting his warmth mix and lap at yours as his words continue in your mind: breaths of forgiveness, of your innocence and love. |
 | | Mandrake's hand turns to the side, his palm sliding across the perfect silk of your belly to rest the side of his palm upon the curving edge of your hip, though his thumb presses to the lower curve of your belly, his pulse feeding still to that little life. |
 | | Mandrake's mouth forms into what could be the softest of smirks, though it fades in a simple moment, the pressure of his weight seeming to increase, as if to press you down into the silk and feathers, each touch needing no telepathy to tell their message: forget it. |
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