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Once upon a time Thatcher King and I were friends, best friends. He was the one I turned to when someone hurt me, until he was the one doing the hurting. He was the one I talked to about my fears and secrets, until he used them against me. Had several years apart healed the wounds that Thatcher gave me over and over, or was he just an old flame ready to burn me slowly until there was nothing left but ash?
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