Cascading down your back, a stream of black water. Fine strands of Golden Fleece, longer does not matter. These fire hardened strands falling from your shape, Silky Long Confinement, my look almost a gape. I see those long formed strings bouncing to and fro. When did these develop? From whence I do not know. Long as all the wheat fields, or short and finer crowned, Your Silky Long Confinement is known the whole world round.
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