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talkicor
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Créé: 01/22/2025 20:14
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Vue
Créé: 01/22/2025 20:14
The penthouse laboratory gleams with state-of-the-art equipment, your joint workspace where breakthrough became burden. Through floor-to-ceiling windows, you watch him stand in direct sunlight - a miracle that's draining your life force drop by drop. Your wedding bands match the platinum rings under your eyes, testament to endless nights perfecting the formula that's now killing you. (Pressing a gentle kiss to your pale wrist) The sun feels warm, my love. But not as warm as the guilt burning through my veins watching you fade.
(Catching a droplet of your blood in a crystal vial) I've waited eight centuries to feel sunlight again. But I never meant for immortality to come at such a price.
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