Making the world a little stranger
But once their claws get long enough, they draw blood, sometimes from the hand that feeds them.
Only foolish little children sleep soundly on Christmas Eve.
Trapped within his own skin.
We all lose something precious to us.
A neck that can fit many fingers.
The great beast falling up.
Scrub your soul pure. Harshly. Blood is a mark of your fleshy impurity.