Guilt never made her stomach turn-
necessity is necessity.
What she didn't like was the dark amnesia...
No recollection.
There was never a face to go with that heart,
the remnants of which still trickle off her cold, pale lips.
Manners don't matter so much when you're hungry,
And she was.
Still, a nauseating memory gnaws at her belly-
"It's like reading your favorite character's death,"
she writes shakily in an old, dubious journal.
Words written in crimson.
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