I woke up late again, with the rain-besmirched sun already bleaching the black room curtains a faded shade of bone. Too many meetings with baronesses and ladyships lay strewn about the week ahead. Ephemeral paperdoll checkpoints. It's exhausting and fruitless trying to satisfy this bottomless maw of a master. This slavedriver in my temples called ego. I have no satisfactory answers for myself, except for the ones I answered by happenstance, months and years ago.
8:35 p.m. - 2016-03-07
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Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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