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As tears drench down her white dress, she stifles her sobs as she tears in.

That blade the only pain she ever found real. The fallacy of religion just another swipe of a blade that rips in deeper than her heart can tell. She rips up, rips down and smiles. For once, she is seeing results of her sacrifice. For once, her communion is a reality.

Whisper: "It'll all be over soon, and you will be pure, pure white."

Communion: the act of sharing. Intimate association and confidence. Tell me about the pain, my friend. It is only a sharp small sting, smooth. Skin cuts like silk, like butter. Sharp silver sinking in, sliver-like trails of red.

Oh yeah, baby, just like that.

Down, not across. You know we do not want to consummate this union. Not tonight, sweet silver. Across, not down. Tonight let's stick to the feel of it. Here, let's taste your bite.

I swear you could become my new religion. You could become my new obsession. Yes, my new oblivion. Yes Yes I think this is it. Yes Yes take me to deep parts of oblivion. Yes Yes Yes Please!

Slow, silent, silver. Sliver-like trails of red. You understand.

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