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Disclaimer: Characters are not mine.
Author’s Notes: This NC-17 one-shot was inspired by a challenge made years ago by two outstanding authors— Elora and Narumi. The challenge that they formed for themselves was this: do a rape scene centering on one of the most important scenes of RoV, be it manga or anime. Elora was tasked to do the anime version, and Narumi the manga version. The result of Elora’s efforts was the fanfic “Possession”, one of my favorite stories ever. Sadly, Narumi has put down her fanfiction from the Internet, a great loss to all RoV fans. I have both of them to thank for giving me the idea to do this story.
Despite the similarity of the theme, this story is not meant to supplant Narumi’s fanfic (her stories are incomparable and irreplaceable) or Elora’s; merely, it is a reflection of my own ideas of the Incident in the manga version and how I would think it might resolve if André were indeed to take advantage of Oscar.
Also, it is a response made to the requests of Megumi, Nant, Aurélie, Françoise, Happii and all the wonderful people at the Lady Oscar forum that I do something spicier. I dedicate this to you all. I hope you will like the story, and not find the contents too shocking or offensive. It was not easy writing it, and there were points when I got so embarrassed at what I was doing that I had considered quitting several times. I do not condone women being taken against their will for any reason whatsoever. I hope that my readers will be able to look beyond the violence of the act to examine the context that lies underneath. And from this, I leave you to judge the feasibility of Oscar’s reaction at the end of the story. Reviews are welcome, as always!
Honest to God, when I opened the door that would lead me into your rooms that night, I had not the slightest idea of the demons that had been sleeping, dormant, inside me. But while the spirit was willing to be strong in men, the flesh was generally weak, and I’m afraid even the most exemplary of men may find themselves losing to their baser selves when they’ve been pushed over the edge.
And I’ve been teetering on the brink of an emotional precipice for as long as I could remember. A dangerous state. Like dry tinder awaiting the first strike of a match.
But that had not been on my mind then. I had not been thinking of anything in particular when I arrived at your door and turned the handle to enter your rooms, as I was wont to do after dinner almost every night. Walking into your rooms freely was an action as familiar to me as breathing. It was strange that your father’s household never bothered to check my seemingly untoward behavior. Technically I was nothing more than your servant. But perhaps growing up with you had made the people around us careless enough to take our relationship for granted. Certainly, in the eyes of your father, perhaps even Granny, we’d never changed.
But we did, Oscar. Over the years, we grew up, did we not? And ever since Hans Axel von Fersen came into the picture, you’ve changed…
…Changed so drastically that sometimes I did not think I could stand it.
Who was this man to elicit the kind of light that I sometimes saw shining in your eyes? He had no right to do it, no right to be the cause of that tender glow in your visage. It was wrong, it was just wrong that you would fall in love with someone whose heart was already committed to another. What could you possibly know about him when it came to affairs of the heart? It was obvious that he would not—could not— grant you what you were longing for. What could you possibly gain from this entire exercise unless you were looking to have your heart broken?
It was wrong!
This was becoming an obsession of late, but strangely enough I had not been thinking about it when I opened the door to your rooms and stepped into…darkness.
What? I thought, momentarily confused. Were my eyes playing a trick on me again? Ever since the injury from Bernard, my eyesight had not been the same. It took me a moment to adjust to the dimness, and when I finally did, I saw your silhouette in one of the chairs as you sat there quietly, enveloped in the shadows.
“Oscar?” I said, surprised. “What are you doing sitting there in the dark? Let me get you some candles.”
“Don’t!” Your voice, strong and hard, lashed out at me like a whip. “Leave it as it is!”
Then, more softly, you said, “Leave it like this.”
Taking your words as a sign that I proceed, I stepped into your darkened room and closed the door gently behind me.
“Come sit with me.” In the darkness, your voice seemed disembodied, floating. Troubled.
Beyond the tall windows, a young moon was rising. A thin, translucent ray of its light filtered dimly into the room, the only source of illumination to guide me to you.
There will be a full moon tonight, I thought indistinctly as I finally took a seat next to you. Heart suddenly hammering in my chest, I realized that this was the first time in a long while since we had been alone together. When I had been recovering from my wound, you had made yourself so scarce that I had been almost afraid that you were deliberately avoiding me.
Then you broke the silence by asking the most surprising question: “André, do you remember the first time we met?”
I had to smile. How could I not remember so scary a thing? And for a while, as we talked about the childhood that we had shared, I felt myself relax. This was how I would always want to regard you: as the great friend that you had always been, before your responsibilities to the court and the Queen took up more and more of your time…
…And before he came along.
Why could things not remain the same between us? Everything had been so clear and simple then, with no invisible wall to divide us. Your heart had been whole once, and I had long cherished the hope that it would be mine, solely mine, one day.
The childhood memories were winding to a close. Smiling, you glanced at me and I smiled back wistfully, with a tinge of sadness that those pleasant days were now gone and no longer to return.
And then you turned away from me.
“Oscar?” I asked, startled by your sudden movement, aware that my bubble of comfort had burst. Dread was instantly seeping in again, that weary sense of dread and anxiety that filled my days as I mulled over the dilemma of your growing feelings for Fersen.
But you were gone. Just like that, I felt as though a veil had dropped over you again, hiding your features, your feelings, taking you away from me. Your body was here inside the room with me but your thoughts were a thousand miles away.
You’re thinking about him again, weren’t you?
You can’t fool me, Oscar. I’d seen how you looked whenever he was near, and even if my sight were to be taken from me, I would never forget that look of hunger and misery etched in your face when you thought nobody was looking.
I’d recognize that look anywhere, anytime, and I’d know that you’re thinking about him. You’d ask me how I came to notice, but that would only show you that you had not been looking at me close enough either.
Because that was exactly the way I’d look whenever I would so much as think about you.
Frustrated desire had but one face, Oscar, and those long suffering from it would not fail to identify it.
The words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself: “It’s Fersen, isn’t it?”
You turned back to stare at me, shock evident in your eyes.
By then it was too late. The dam had finally burst; there was no stopping the flashflood now. I could not help myself as anger and disappointment and bitter hurt washed over me. “Did you see him? You did, didn’t you?” I bit out. “Did something happen?”
You didn’t want to answer, and just then a look of profound unhappiness and despair crossed your features, and anger tipped into rage inside me. How could you be such a fool, Oscar, to allow such a man— any man— to hurt you?
How could you?
And what about me? Will you leave me all alone to my misery? Will you leave me so unsatisfied? Will you go on hurting me without your knowing it?
I did not know how it came to be, but I found my hands on your arms, gripping you tightly, unable to let you run away from me.
You stared at me, eyes wide, before you looked away and murmured, “André, let me go.” Even then, you sounded as though you could not believe what you were seeing just now.
I could tell that you were about to dismiss me, just like you always did when you found me tedious or tiresome. Well, you can’t! Not just yet! Not when I had so many things to say.
“Let me go, André!” you shouted angrily at last.
That was when I saw the first touch of fear in your eyes, and it galvanized me further, fueling my recklessness.
“What’s the matter, Oscar? Are you afraid of me?” I asked, feeling the heat spreading through me like wildfire. “Go ahead and shout then. I don’t care. I don’t care if we’re to be discovered like this and I’d be killed for it. I love you!”
With that I pulled you to me roughly, taking you down with me as I finally gave myself over to the furious cravings inside me that longed to be appeased.
I did not give you a chance to break free as I finally sealed my lips over yours. You were thoroughly unprepared, thoroughly shocked at my boldness. My lips met no resistance as they plundered your mouth.
Ah, but how cold your lips were, how lifeless, like marble.
“Oscar!” I cried brokenly as I moved my mouth away from yours at last, burying my head into the silky waves of your hair as my arms encircled your still form. A statue would not have been more stiff, more motionless as you were at this moment.
Heedless of what you might think, I gave voice to the thought that had long been a source of torment for me: “Oscar, Oscar…since when did these feelings start? Every time I see you, your golden hair, your clear eyes framed by lashes the color of night, with every breath you take, it seems, passion such as I have never felt before would rise within me…Oscar, don’t move! Just listen to me!”
I detached myself far enough to look down into your startled eyes. “For ten years I've loved only you. I've never once looked at another woman the whole time,” I said, feeling the tears slide down my face at last. “I never thought that I could marry you or make you mine, but I would rather be killed right here than let another man have you! Please, Oscar. I'll do anything for you. I’d even die for you if it is your wish…”
At my words, something seemed to rouse you at last. Alarmed, you tried to break away from my hold even as I tightened my grip on your arms, your body.
“André,” you gasped as you tried to pull away from me, but I was deaf to your cries.
“So Oscar, so please…” I begged, the last scrap of my pride gone even as my will stubbornly soldered on, my hands unwilling to let you go even as you strove to break free from me. We grappled, but my hands were firmly on your wrists, my fingers biting into your flesh.
Realizing that I would never let go, you cried, voice trembling as fright set in, “Let me go! I’ll call someone!”
But it was useless. I was beyond caring. This was the nearest I could possibly get to you, have you. There would be no other chance in the future. Even now, it was useless to try reasoning with me. I would fail in the task of saving me from myself, and so would you.
Right now I could only think of one thing, and it took its form in words that escaped my lips as I hurled you easily onto your wide, canopied bed: “I love you! I love you! I love you!”
“No!” You screamed, turning your head away as I pressed in, seeking your mouth.
Even then, I found you captivating. In the blue and black shadows of the room, with your hair tousled, spilling wildly onto the pillows, with your face turned away, exposing the taut muscles of your neck, your heaving breast, I found you enchanting in your sudden vulnerability.
You never fought back, even as the fine material of your blouse gave way in my savage hands with a loud, ripping noise.
Something seemed to leave you then. Suddenly drained, you slumped back against the cushions as the light in your eyes went out. For a moment, even I was stunned into immobility as I saw the moisture gather in your eyes to trickle gradually down your cheeks. I watched as you closed your eyes wearily, your tone soft as you asked, “So…what now, André? What are you going to do with me now?”
And I felt the tears start anew at your words, laced so heavily with defeat. Slowly I bent over you, bent until our foreheads touched, until I could taste the salt of your tears as they mingled with mine.
Still, you didn’t move. Even as I buried my head into your hair and sobbed, even as I turned to rub my cheek against yours imploringly, you never moved.
Oscar, I would have wanted to say. Just tell me…tell me what I want to hear. Just once. And I promise you I shall go away. Just once. Please. Tell me you love me…
But you never did. You simply lay there as though you’ve been turned to stone. Petrified. Silent. So cruelly silent.
It was your silence that inflamed me, rekindled the anger that had threatened to die at the sight of your tears. Will you never be kind to me? Was your heart so filled with your foolish love for Fersen that you could not spare me even so much as a piece of your love? Was this the reward I’d get after all the sacrifices that I had made for you? Normally I would not have asked for anything in return, but did I deserve this cruel treatment from you, of all people?
I felt my body gradually coming alive again as fury slowly worked its poison inside me. I knew suddenly what you were planning to do. You were going to carry on your resistance by lying there passively, unresponsive to my supplications, my touch.
Well, we’ll just have to see how long you could resist me then, Oscar. I wondered how long you were going to hold on to your stubborn pride, your indomitable spirit, before you gave in to me. I wouldn’t say I had much experience in the matter, but I could say I knew enough to please a woman, whether she was willing to be pleased or not.
It was time Galatea turned into a flesh and blood woman.
Deliberately now, I turned my head further to claim your mouth with mine, forcing your lips open, plunging my tongue into the sweet recesses within. Your body clenched at the sudden, intimate intrusion but my hands were immediately at your wrists, pinning your hands down even as you tried to use them to push me away.
God, but you tasted so very sweet! Just as I knew you would be—so warm and soft and so unbearably sweet. A sound escaped from your throat— a moan of protest?— as I continued my hungry exploration of your mouth. I slid my tongue around yours, coaxing it, sucking it into my mouth, and I felt you shudder underneath me.
I broke off, panting. “Tell me you didn’t like that,” I taunted, and I let out a hard laugh as I saw you shake your head, jaw clenched, eyes squeezed tightly shut. The room was cool but I could see beads of perspiration starting at your forehead.
“Liar,” I said softly, lifting your hands high above your head and trapping them with one hand. The other I trailed leisurely down the side of your face, down the smooth lines of your throat, down to clasp one breast through the thin material of your ruined shirt.
Your eyes flew open at my touch, and I could hear your soft gasp, your sobbing breaths. I kept my hand there for several seconds more, purposefully prolonging the moment. And then I squeezed.
You started as the unfamiliar sensation shot through you. In that one desperate moment you seemed to remember the use of your legs, for you started to thrash, attempting to kick me from underneath even as you tried to break free of my grip from above. No matter. I was prepared for it. I brought a knee up between your thighs, wedging your legs apart, effectively quelling their movement.
I heard you cry out as you felt the bluntness of my knee as it brushed on that one particularly sensitive area between your thighs and you went suddenly, rigidly still.
“Cry out, Oscar,” I urged you even as my hand continued its slow motion over your breast, at times squeezing, at times rolling my fingers lightly, tantalizingly over the hardened peak. “Call someone. Unless you don’t want to.”
Despite my cruel goading, a part of me actually wanted you to scream for help, to stop this madness, to end the outrage that I was subjecting you to. But you resolutely kept you silence, staring at me defiantly even as the breath came short and labored from your throat.
The fierce light in your eyes was almost too much for me, but then I did not have to look into your eyes. I peeled away the torn shirt, exposing your breasts at last to the bright light of the full moon that flooded the room.
Beautiful, so very beautiful…
Bending, I let my lips graze one hardened nipple before my tongue darted out for a taste. Instantly, you shrank away, but it was not difficult for me to follow your movements. I heard your moaning gasp as I suckled one peak gently, bathing it with moisture before I turned my attention on the other crested peak.
Tell me you don’t like this, Oscar. Tell me that you feel nothing, and I shall expose you for the liar that you are. You won’t be able to say it, not when the physical evidence of your arousal was right here in front of me. I watched, masculine satisfaction surging through me, as your flesh gradually tightened to hot, hard nubbins under my skilled ministrations.
I’m just starting Oscar. Believe me, we’re not done yet. We’re far from done.
“André, don’t…!” You rasped as you felt my hand trail further downward relentlessly.
The sound of your voice made me pause for an instant, and then I was removing your pants, deftly undoing the fastenings before sliding the material down past your thighs, leaving them to pool on your lower legs. That ought to slow down your movements, I thought. I brought your aching arms down from above your head, tying them together at your back with the remnants of your shirt.
Then I knelt back as my hands slowly started to strip away my coat, my shirt. You watched, horrified, fascinated, as I did away with my upper garments. You closed your eyes and turned your head away as I started undoing the clasps of my breeches. A piercing sob arose from you as I finally tossed aside my remaining clothes, as I reached for you again.
You were crying now, crying hard as I enveloped you in my arms and kissed the valley between your breasts.
What’s the matter, Oscar? I’m not hurting you, am I? I thought as I lavished kisses down your stomach, you navel. In the beginning, I had wanted to. I had wanted to hurt you as much as you had hurt me with your aloofness, your rejection, but now I realized that I could not do it.
Why the tears, Oscar? Were my caresses really so awful, so repulsive? Could you really say that you did not find them enjoyable at least for a tiny bit?
Ah, but I see that your body had made a liar out of you again. As I parted your trembling thighs to gaze at the blond haven before me, I knew that your body had betrayed you. You could not have found me all that deplorable, if the glistening wetness that I found between your legs were to serve as evidence of your desire, however reluctantly drawn.
I could have used you to satisfy the beast in me without any consideration for your comfort. I could have easily taken what I wanted and leave you hurting, but I had decided that I would try not to hurt you as much as possible. That’s how much I’m still in love with you.
A shriek and a desperate wrench from you as I dipped my head and ran my tongue once, lightly, over your heated flesh. And then I resolved to deepen my kiss, sealing my lips at last over your tender, moist petals, sucking, lapping at the abundant juices that I found there. I drank like a man dying of thirst, heedless of your cries, keeping a steadying hand on your thrashing limbs. At last my tongue sought and found the sensitive nub hidden in its fold, stroking it in hot, long sweeps as I inserted a finger into your warm crevice.
Your response was electrifying. A hoarse, strangled cry escaped your parched lips, your back arching, body as tight as a bow, as I continued my intimate probe, kissing you, tasting you in a way no other man had ever done. If Fersen were to change his mind and have you later, at least it would give me some comfort to think that he would have to take you at second hand. If I would live long enough to watch it happen.
Close. You were so close. I could tell. I quickened my strokes and watched, gloriously triumphant, as you finally found your release, as you rode out spasm after delicious spasm that coursed through you.
I took my lips and hands away as you finally subsided, completely exhausted, on the covers of the bed.
It was my turn. It was my time.
After this, you would never be able to say you were indifferent to me, Oscar. The ice that you had encased yourself in was melting, the stone and marble of your heart gradually turning to warm, living, pulsing flesh and blood. You could say whatever you wanted afterward, but if you were to be honest with yourself, at the very least you would give me the credit for making you want me. You would cling on to your sense of right, your morals, your honor, and still remember that you had not been able to stop yourself from wanting me, responding to me at the most critical moment. I had been able to break down your defenses and see you betray yourself.
Your head was thrown back on the pillows. You were still breathing hard, eyes closed.
“Oscar, look at me.”
You didn’t want to. I could tell you didn’t want to open your eyes.
“Look at me, Oscar.”
And there was something in my voice that finally made you open your eyes. Open them just long enough for you to see me move my hand, still wet with your juices, on my rigid staff.
Even in the pale moonlight, I saw the color rush to your face as you watched me touch myself, coating myself with your desire. I could see that you were at a loss, truly at a loss, for words. You could not even make a sound. And yet you did not try to stop me as I moved to position myself at your entrance.
“It’s time, Oscar,” I whispered as I began the long, slow push into your body.
God, were there words to describe this most intense, incredible feeling of completion? You were so hot, so slick and tight…so very tight…
I had meant to go slow, I had meant to make it last, but it was impossible. The heat, the delicious friction conspired to make my strokes hard and swift. But you were there with me too. At the very end, it was the feel of your inner muscles clenching that sent me soaring over the edge.
I had never known pleasure to be an explosion of color and sound deep inside my head. And somewhere in that wonderful burst of light and sound, I heard your muffled scream, felt the sharp pain as you bit down hard on my shoulder. And in that one outburst… did I detect pleasure masked in the agony of that scream?
In the aftermath of the storm, I found that I could not rise from you. We lay there for several dazed minutes, until I realized that my weight must be too much for you. Slowly, tiredly, I rolled away and sat up.
You were lying supine, eyes open, staring off into space at the ceiling. The glazed look in your empty eyes pierced me, made me realize for the first time the enormity of the wrong that I had inflicted upon you.
“Oscar…” I said, blindly reaching out a trembling hand.
At my touch, you seemed to come to your senses. You jerked away from my fingers as if burned, and I watched miserably as you turned your head away from me. Your quiet sobs finally rose to my ears as I gently untied your hands from behind you, as I let the scrap of torn lace fall to the bed.
Oh, my God…what have I done?
How could I have convinced myself that I could make you love me this way? What demon had possessed me to do it?
I could see now that I had lost you. Any satisfaction I might be feeling, any relief that I had expected to lift from the heavy emotional burden that I had been carrying died away as horrified disbelief at what I had done, what I was capable of doing, finally sank in on me.
The damage had been done completely, utterly, irremediably. I had taken an essential part of you and murdered it. I had killed your trust, your confidence in me. Any conviction you might hold about anything that was good in me had been put to death by a blind moment of passion. From now on, you would never look at me the same way again. You would never trust another man as long as you lived. And as for me, I could only pray that death would befall me before I ever laid eyes on the morning.
The night was growing colder. You continued to lie still with your head turned away. Silently, I took hold of the bed covers and pulled them up to cover your nakedness. Your limp hand was showing from the blanket, and I held it in my own. Just one last time.
My voice, when it finally came, was low and hoarse: “Forgive me. I …I did not know what came over me. I had not been myself…”
But you did not deserve any of my feeble excuses.
“I swear to God I will never touch you again, although I doubt if I will live long enough to see daybreak,” I said and, unable to stop myself, I pressed your hand to my face, streaked with fresh tears. “It’s just…I love you so much. So very much that I feel like dying. I do not deserve to live after what I’ve done to you. I will embrace death when it comes. I can only hope it comes soon.”
Slowly, I got up to dress. My limbs were leaden, and even restoring the clothes to my body was a long and difficult task.
At last it was done. I had no more words to say, no more reason to linger in your rooms, and I stumbled out the door.
But the next morning did not bring death. Nor did it come for me in the next few days that seemed to stretch for a lifetime.
Somehow, you had taken care of the soiled bed linen and the torn blouse so that there had been no whispers among the maids who had come to clean your rooms the next day, and no alarm was raised. How you could have possibly done it was a mystery to me.
It was only natural for us to avoid each other from then on. I did not think I could bear seeing you, meeting you. How much more if you were to lay eyes on me in your father’s house?
I could not think of the incidents of that night without cringing. I was scorched with shame. The guilt would not leave me; I was devastated at the thought that I had left you tainted, contaminated with the knowledge of the bestial nature of men.
And I realized now you had not lost yourself in those few, insane moments the way I had lost myself completely. I had taken your refusal to call out for help, your dogged silence, for something else then. I now realized that you had done it to protect me, to prevent anyone from finding out about us.
Why, Oscar? Why had you still wanted to protect me?!
The belated realization did not help much to assuage the sorrow and raging guilt. You had been so noble at a time when I had made you go through hell. Your charity and kindness certainly did not belong to that of any ordinary, mortal woman.
As the days dragged by, certain incidents gave me cause for wonder: your decision to let Bernard Châtelet go, and even more surprising, your decision to let Rosalie go with him. It was a huge leap of faith, no matter how much you had come to an understanding with the scathing journalist who used to have been the Black Knight.
What had made you do it?
And, finally, the most unbelievable news: your request from the Queen to have you transferred from the Royal Guards to the rowdy Gardes Françaises, a demotion so considerable that it had people wondering.
It left me wondering as well. There existed an urgency behind the swiftness of your decision that almost suggested flight.
Were you finally fleeing from Fersen?
The night of Bernard and Rosalie’s departure.
I watched as Bernard shook hands with you. I heard his
parting words: “Since I found out that there were people like you among the
nobility, I believe that France can be saved.”
And realization struck me then as to what you were: A miracle worker capable of saving the situation just as it hung in the balance, a person capable of making a difference, a woman stronger than a man in so many ways…
As the coach finally disappeared from our sight, I murmured, “She’s gone.”
You nodded. There was a pause before you finally turned and uttered your first words to me since that disastrous night: “André, we’ll be very busy beginning tomorrow. Order everyone to assemble at the parade grounds at two o’clock.”
Such an ordinary remark! As though nothing had happened between us just a few days ago…
“All right,” I said, striving to keep my voice even.
But you must have felt it as well, the deep undercurrents that stirred uneasily between us. For as long as we lived, they would always be there, a frisson of awareness that lay just beneath the placid exterior of things between us.
You hesitated, then turned to gaze at me, the light in your eyes inexplicably tender. So tender and thoughtful that I almost broke down.
“André,” you said. “I’ve been so selfish all along and have caused you so much trouble. I do understand that it's only because you follow me around like a shadow that I can do as I wish. I couldn't do anything by myself.”
How could you say that, Oscar? I nearly choked out. How could you be so generous, so forgiving, after what I had done to you…?
As you passed by me on the way back to the mansion, you uttered the first and last remark you would ever make of the Incident to me: “Do not torture yourself with something that I will not hold against you. You gave in to a moment of weakness, but I know that you are so much more than that. And while I do not deny that I will remember it for the rest of my life, it was too complex a thing to be judged in one light alone. I hold no rancor. Rather, I had been enlightened enough by the experience to make the decision to let Rosalie go. Love is a complicated thing, and I shall not stand in its way if one is to be made happy and content by it. This much you taught me.”
And saying thus, you proceeded alone into the house, leaving me to recover from my intense shock at your generosity and understanding.
That was when I realized what you were exactly, and my final humiliation was complete. I had brought shame and degradation to nobody but myself. I flattered myself when I thought I had turned a stone nymph to a woman that night. Now I realized that I did not, could not have made a woman out of a goddess.
More Author’s Notes: The story of Pygmalion and Galatea is one of the most romantic in Ovid’s Metamorphosis. The transformation of a stone statue to a woman of flesh and blood who falls in love with her creator is a symbolism that has been used over and over again in so many stories. I cannot help but use it to shed light on the relationship of Oscar and André. I’ve always believed that the Incident between them had served as a catalyst, hastening Oscar’s awareness that she was gradually falling in love with André.
Of course, it is only my hypothesis that Oscar learned something from the Incident to dictate her decisions on sending Rosalie away. That’s probably not the case in the manga. Oscar, from the very start, has been a woman worthy of worship. J
pubblicazione sul sito Little Corner del novembre 2007
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