Her voice worms inside his mind, writhes and shreds until his skull is soft; swollen fruit just this side of rotten.
He thinks, sometimes, about pressing a finger into it, seeing if it will explode. He bets it will. Still, he never asks her for silence, even when the pain takes him so far inside he can only see in shades of red.
He likes it. He wants to see where she's taking him. Because she imparts knowledge of things he'd have otherwise never known.
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