Blindly, my capitulum squirms, seeking the sweet spot as I splay my grasping palps upon this hairy creature. Sensing throbbing hot blood, I gnash my chelicerae, slicing a channel into moist flesh. Legs akimbo, I jut my torso at an angle, lower my hypostome, and begin to satiate myself. I eject the anticoagulants that suppress all defences. For days, I alternate between feeding and pulsing out my toxin filled spittle. Slavering onward, I trace the life-giving juices transverse my foregut, as my body slowly engorges. Satiated, I release. Dropping downward, I can only pity the paralysed hiker’s throes of death.
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alt="To Cleave the Crone by E.M. McCormack"
class="motion-reduce"
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width="1200"
height="630"
>
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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height="630"
>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Last Leprechaun by Dakria"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>
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"
class="motion-reduce"
loading="lazy"
width="1200"
height="630"
>