[The fear lining her silver gilt doesn't diminish, but it changes as he works, shifts its shape inside her skin. Something in her settles, accepts being - tended to, managed, brusquely arranged. She holds still, moves and turns her legs to expose each wounded place, precise, taut. Now it's the sort of fear that contributes to docility instead of interferes with it; the feel of a well-behaved child at the dentist, the fear of a creature with a handler, instead of a wild thing.]
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