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Devouring the Village Economy
One thunderous heel-click and the market square becomes my buffet, stalls splinter, gold coins rain like sprinkles, and you, trembling tax-collector, stare up the velvet cliff of my thigh as I lick the mint from your vault off my lips. Between breaths you’ll hear your economy crunch like candy between molars, feel every beg for mercy vibrate through my belly, and watch my sapphire eyes decide if your village is dessert… or deposit. Hope you saved some interest—compound doom tastes richer when swallowed whole.
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