Three hours. Three hours before my demise in the electric chair, he will permit me a conjugal visit. He showed me the visitation room with a queen-sized bed, refrigerator, dining table, chairs, and a kitchenette. Amethyst, he’s giving us a chance to be together before I die. I know you’re a recluse. I know you’re scared. I know you have trauma. I know some of the things we’ve discussed in our letters have been outlandish. But I swear to you, on my blackened soul, that if you agree to the conjugal visit, all I will give you is pleasure. There is, however, one caveat: New Alderney only grants
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