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... n its eyes, or warmth on its skin. It’s awareness of those sensations had long since faded to a distant memory. The only embrace it knew was the cold and merciless grip of its prison.

It’s arms were bound, as were it’s legs. The only movement the thing was capable of was tired, sedated thrashing -- through which it could eventually maneuver itself to scratch faintly on the surface of its prison.

That scratch, scratch, scratch was the only voice the thing was permitted: the gag bo ...

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