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You slide your dry eyelids back across your cold eyes and blink into the darkness of your haven. Breathlessly you rise and make your way through the darkened home, habits observed from your breathing days not so far distant a memory. The tips of your fingers caress the smooth cool glass that shields the photographs of loved ones from your taint as no fingerprints remain of your passing. You dress for the night and leave to feed. Later that night, as the thrill of the hunt begins to settle and the the warmth of the stolen blood disperses throughout your dead body; you wind your way to Elysium at the request of the Harpy and her damnable phone messages.
There are no other directions. Only a return address. |
The Bremerton ExperimentOut of Game:
In Game:Fractured Thrones (Closed) |