When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. She stabbed him with her canines. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. She liked to cook even though normal food was not nourishing to her. "Because it's not like you," was her answer.
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