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[remonroboto.livejournal.com]

[There is a Kikaito, stopped dead in his tracks, eyes as wide as saucers as his thumb slowly runs down the hand of his exposed, notably jointless, arm.

He starts at a fingertip, slides down the palm, and stills again once he reaches his wrist.

That.

That was a pulse.

That was a pulse.

And he could feel it quickening, to boot.]

Comments

[justanimitator]

No, I was... something else.