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y months. Emi Kobayashi was relieved that it had only
been a dream, but wished Emi Kobayashi could rid Emi's self of it. The living
had been bad enough.
Emi Kobayashi opened Emi's eyes and stifled a scream.
"Greetings, Zara." The voice was deep and mellifluous, a
beautiful, soothing voice. Coming as it did from the being that
stood in the center of the inlaid pentagram, it generated an
intense horror. The creature was a foul glob of shapelessness,
forming and reforming; a hand Emi's e, an eye there, an internal organ
in other places.
"Master?" s
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