the thirty nine year old femme fatale
had a thorough swig of her concocted
drink. the rat poison scorching her insides
and the absinthe soaking into her already
damaged psyche.

she would do this almost ritualisticaly.
play some music. get blackout drunk.
hallucinate. lose herself to her senses.
a sight to the sore eyes, her slim figure in her way too short skirt — for her own good. just that tempting him alone. besides her slim figure,
her ass was was certainly something.
music was convenient, allowing the man approach her. in the dim lighting,
he snuck closer and closer to his prey.

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