We are all more than the sum of our sins.
He tasted like sin made into wine: dark, heady, and impossible to resist.
I told you once before,” I said, the words husky from remembrance. “Everyone holds their sins close to their skin.” Fangs gleamed for an instant before Vlad bit into his wrist, pooling up two deep crimson holes. “Then come,” he said, holding it out. “And taste mine.
People can perfect whatever facade they want, but everyone holds their sins close to their skin.
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