Pamela A.

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A rushing sound. Like a flight of dark birds, an enormous flock. But it wasn’t birds at all, only the susurration of his own blood eerily audible to him, his life in circulation through his arteries and veins.
Pamela A.
𝑰𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅.
The Other Emily
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