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Gentle Hands

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We were children playing at slaughter. The chosen of Prometheus and childlike gods. I loved her, my sister as much as I hated him. I loved you too Rahzenshia Rose, when you were young and doe eyed, abandoned in your circle of hatred and fear.

I loved you more when I twisted the knife, pulling your intestines out with my fingers, dirty with your feces, blood and tears. What are fingernails ripped out with a fine precision, pulled apart like children rip butterfly wings, against the sweet pain of having your insides exposed in the most lewd fashion and draped across a desk.

What is a knife splitting a palm apart or a tea party covered in cherry blossom petals? I want you for what you appear to be and hate you for what you are not.

I warned you not to trust me or to consider me your friend.