Prologue:

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Delectable.

Absolutely delectable.

Flesh peeling away from bone, muscle ripping and tearing, blood dripping down the side of her face, as she devours the body before her.

The man, early thirties, maybe late twenties, hadn't even bothered to fight back: too inebriated to even think. It had been almost too easy this time. Too boring.

But utterly delectable.

God how she loved that word.
For so long Ashoka had tried to find something that described the taste of human remains. To name the thrill she felt when the intestines touched her tongue, and permeated her saliva.

Delectable.

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