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Holy shit, I'm just relistening to 'The Fire In Which You Burn Slow' a stupid amount. This happens every time!
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The toothaches got worse, she dreamed of disembodied voices from whose malignance there was no appeal, the soft dusk of mirrors out of which something was about to walk, and empty rooms that waited for her. Your gynaecologist has no test for what she was pregnant with.
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