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KATERYNA MOONIN
Writer | Aspiring Author | Lover of Horror and History
It cranked its weathered neck.
A stretch of tight leather flesh, charred like a spoiled lamb shank.
Dead; dead hands and dead knuckles and dead eyes.
Blood bubbling and sputtering from dead lips, rotted open, with maggots writhing in the gore and gunk of a swollen tongue.
Dead, all dead.
- Excerpts from WIP: When The Raven Cries Grief
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