My wooden limbs twist around articulated joints.
Runner: sprinting
Archer: aiming
Ballerina: pirouetting
The artist explores eloquent athletic poses. Sketch after sketch. I am proud to serve as his muse.
Until his tone shifts.
Juvenile: dabbing
Pervert: self-pleasuring
Nazi: goose-stepping
He cackles as his artistic loftiness yields to disgusting whims. Humiliation surges through me. Yet, I am his prisoner. Unable to resist.
Until he sleeps and I escape my display stand.
Prowler: sneaking
Stalker: climbing
Avenger: mounting
My knobbed hands slide into his nostrils. His eyes fly open.
Arms: thrust
Bone: crack
Brain: punctured
Now, I am my own muse.
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alt="To Cleave the Crone by E.M. McCormack"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="They Only See Me When I Cry by Alara Rogers"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Last Leprechaun by Dakria"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Sitting on Aine's Cursed Stone by Crystal N. Ramos"
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