"... red liquid."

Red liquid is steadily oozing out, slowly dribbling down your arm, spreading like cobwebs over the tiles. You wince, as you make the cut, but the pain only lasts a second, and you are not satisfied. The blade in your hand slides over fragile skin, tearing flesh apart, and you try desperately to lessen the pain that resides in your heart. Because that pain lasts for longer than a second.

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