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... ft, strangled. Too soft.

His eyes darted to her body in his arms. Matilda lay sprawled on the glossy café floor, her legs folded awkwardly beneath her, crimson staining the sleeve of her blue dress.

Blood. Too many of them.

Her blood soaked into the floor beneath her like ink from a spilled bottle, spreading and pooling.

"Matilda!" he was already moving.

Her skin was getting cold, and clammy.

"It... it hurts," she whimpered again, her voice shaky, ...

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