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Masochist and the Masquerade Ball

I’ve always wanted to spit venom. When it came time, I found myself dry-mouthed. I knew it would happen by the end of the night, but I was in a rush to prove it to myself. The goal was potency.

I left you and your company to meander around the masquerade ball, wondering if I was the only masochist there. People whirled around, I was fairly drunk. I knew then the rest of my life would follow suite. I am bitter. My mind, realizing this, sends a signal to tell me to taste sage. Snakes were the only other thing I could conjure up besides you in this thick skull. Our only likeness is that we our venom could be stolen from us. When that did happen, we ceased to be created in God’s image.

The hours caught up to me faster than I had passed them. It was almost midnight now. Lurking became my specialty. The party was in full swing. A sweeping realizitation went the crowd. It was almost time. I broke the cardinal rule of masquerades. I pulled off my mask, grinned, and found you.

“You insufferable cunt”

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