o. Rory

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prologue
rory






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London, 2004






          —AND THEN, there was that metallic taste in her mouth, sweat evident on her face as the gruesome purple bruises all over her body were stared at by the man sat opposite to her. She didn't flinch or wince when the nurse stitched her skin back together on her bleeding forehead, which amazed Harry Hart—really.

          The young brunette stared down at her dirty bitten fingernails, with her bottom lip between her teeth and her legs cross underneath the metal table. All three, becoming familiar habits of hers.

          With a wave of a hand, Harry dismissed the nurse and nodded towards her direction in a way of saying thank you. The door shut with a click as the man slipped off his glasses and placed them in front of him. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, fumbling to bring out a single sugary treat on a plastic stick. The wrapper was drenched in a vibrant yellow, with a smile on top that meant to appeal to children so they'd pest their mothers to buy them one. Though, it didn't appeal to her. She fucking hated yellow.

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