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7/5/2025, 5:06:52 PM
>One late evening, the lamp turned low, casting long, wavering shadows across her small room, Anne lay in bed, feigning sleep as Matthew sat on the edge, as he often did now. The familiar weight of his presence pressed down on her, heavier than any quilt. His hand, warm and calloused, had moved from stroking her hair to resting, almost casually, on her thigh, then inching slowly, deliberately, higher. Her breath hitched, a silent, internal gasp. She wanted to pull away, to protest, but the words, the strength, always seemed to abandon her in these moments. The fear was a cold, constricting band around her chest, twisting with the desperate longing for his affection, for the warmth of his presence that still, sickeningly, felt like safety.
>He began to speak, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that seemed to wrap around her, drawing her deeper into his web. "You're a comfort to me, Anne," he murmured, his thumb gently caressing her skin. "More than you know. A man gets lonely, you see. And you... you're so special. So kind." His words were soft, coated in a false tenderness that made her skin crawl even as a part of her yearned for their sincerity. "There are… special ways a girl can show she cares, Anne. Ways to make an old man feel… young again. To feel loved."
>He began to speak, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that seemed to wrap around her, drawing her deeper into his web. "You're a comfort to me, Anne," he murmured, his thumb gently caressing her skin. "More than you know. A man gets lonely, you see. And you... you're so special. So kind." His words were soft, coated in a false tenderness that made her skin crawl even as a part of her yearned for their sincerity. "There are… special ways a girl can show she cares, Anne. Ways to make an old man feel… young again. To feel loved."
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