it chips away at your soul, you know. ( nine to the master )
the place on dalhousie.
‘ oh, ’ long, drawn out, one might even call it a purr.Â
‘ i know. ’ they could laugh — they both could, at the state of the master’s soul, shattered a million times over and glued back together like no one would ever be the wiser. it is not their soul, has never been their soul that’s concerned them.  ‘ but this isn’t about me. ’











