Mine’s a scorched skeleton of flame-forged rage that keeps me upright. Keeps me moving forward. There’s not much that’s wet and squishy left in my chest. It’s all hard and hostile, impervious to things like caring for the likes of Tarik Relaken. In fact, even if he were a pile of shit on the pavement, I’d still go out of my way to stomp on him.
we got a serious case of not-like-other-girlitis
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