“Oh, look,” Kingfisher observed. “Finally. A use for all of that ridiculous material. Such a pretty little doll in her pretty little dress, aren’t you.” “Hey! I don’t want to wear this,” I snapped, plucking at the dress. “What was I wearing when you found me?” “A whole lot of blood.” Fisher pondered. Frowned. “Wait. I seem to recall that your intestines might have been a part of your ensemble.” “Pants and a shirt,” I said dryly. “And a pair of boots with really good soles. Do you have any idea what those boots cost me?” “Let me guess. Your virginity.” “Fuck you, Fisher.” “Sure.” He smirked.
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