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... first thing I’d noticed, two weeks ago when Magnus had deposited me in this chair like I was some kind of prize he’d won. The pelts that covered it were old and poorly cured, stiff in some places and weirdly soft in others, and they smelled like animal and mildew and the particular unwashed musk of men who had stopped caring about basic hygiene somewhere around the time they decided civilization wasn’t for them.
I sat in it every day.
I sat in it straight-backed, chin up, Vixen ...
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