
"This is her."
Yes, this is me, but not all of me... No. You will hardly ever get that. Oh, yes, I know you are smiling knowingly. You know that no matter what, you have me... you have a part of me, don't you? I would like to ask you if this knowledge pleases you, but I find the question futile. I know the answer, even if you deny it. Yes, you do. You live for this, and now, you'll grip into whatever small scrap you have, whatever small piece from what looks like escaping your hands, to know, forever know, that I'm yours, that there is a bit belonging to you, that extends far past a faded picture of piercing, big, dark eyes and faded, hinted smooth lips you have touched before.
Darling, your cruelty lives in me as well. We are, after all, siblings.
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