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Part of me knows that I should probably bristle at his dominating ways. That my inner feminist should be burning her bra and screaming ‘down with the patriarchy!’ But I just feel a sense of relief at following his orders, at not having to decide anything. There’s something so freeing about relinquishing control to another person.
It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for. They’ll dance in your blood, leaving crimson footsteps in the snow just because it looks pretty.

