Thwart me, and I become your mortal enemy. Her mouth was worthy of her face; with small, pearly-white teeth; lips glossy, rosy, and pouting; and the sweetest smile imaginable, playing constantly about them. It was the same Bios whose nature and drift and ways and methods and aspects engaged them all. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. She made noises between weeping and laughter as she went. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent.
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