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Camille

“It’s just a comic strip,” Dorian chuckles nervously. “I guess it is set in a candle store. But not this candle store. Don’t–don’t poop where you work, right?”

“I think she looks like me,” says Camille, and stabs a page.

“That’s just a generic girl!” Dorian’s realizing he might get fired for this. “I promise, Camille. Ma’am. I didn’t draw it to make fun of–it’s just–write what you know, right?”

Camille taps her lips. He’s drawn her likeness and knows her name. How best to reclaim that power? A fetish of his fingers, or just eating his brain?

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