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... was curled against the stone, arms limp, headless. Smoke still drifted from the jagged stump of his neck, the smell of scorched flesh still very much potent in the air.

But even as she looked at him, she didn’t cry after all, their meeting was still very much fresh.

However, regardless of this, something inside her was still very much clenched, like a fist closing slowly.

He was five years old after all.

A monster, a pervert, he could be called many things, but st ...

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