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I cut her wings

Following a disturbing encounter, Francisco lightly pushed Hazel's head, leading to a tense moment where their eyes met.

Hazel, her grip on the blanket tightened, glared at Francisco with a raging intensity.

"Fuck you, bastard!" she spat out in defiance, her words filled with venom. Francisco, seemingly unfazed, chuckled at her outburst.

"Really?" he mused, finding amusement in her resistance.

Kneeling on the bed, Francisco reached out to touch the blanket, taunting her.

"That means you don't have a problem with my warmth."

In a swift motion, he snatched the blanket away from her, leaving Hazel exposed.

"Stop it!"

Hazel shouted, her hands instinctively covering herself.

Francisco seized her wrist and pulled her closer.

"I like to dress you up with my warmth, Hazel," he declared, a disturbing possessiveness coloring his words.

Hazel's teary eyes met his, but within their depths, only hatred and rage for him simmered.

Francisco, noticing Hazel's struggle, questioned the mark on her for
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