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by Van
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Chapter
4
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Hermione
thrived in situations requiring discipline and sustained
effort—and while stimulating intellectual activity might be her
forte, she wasn't averse to rigorous physical effort if it was
required. Unfortunately, her current situation was
conducive to neither... unless one counts fruitless repetitive
testing of ones inescapable bonds as "sustained effort."
Currently, she was in a chamber with whitewashed stone walls and
an arched ceiling and furnished with historically incongruous
Rococo (or Rococo Revival) chairs, sofas, settees, couches,,
etc., and she was seated in one of those incongruous (but
comfortably padded) chairs; however, she had no choice in the
matter. Hermione was lashed in place with an
abundance of hemp (or possibly jute) rope—thus rendering the
accomplishment of anything virtually impossible, be it
intellectual, physical, or otherwise. Hermione had been sequestered,
one of her least favorite plights!
Also, Hermione's clothing had been rearranged, and several items
she considered important were missing altogether—and it had
happened without her consent and while she was
unconscious! Her black knee-boots and heather-gray
wool skirt were present and correct; however, her white cotton
blouse and demi-bra, while also present, were anything but correct!
Her blouse had been unbuttoned all the way down to her waist and
was half-open under the tight bands of her overlying
rope bonds, which meant her bra-clad breasts had been significantly
exposed by the ensuing gap!
Missing altogether were her dove-gray raincoat, the wool jacket
that went with her skirt and completed the business ensemble,
her pantyhose, half-slip, and panties! They were
all absent without leave! Granted, whatever had been
stuffed in Hermione's mouth and was being held in place by the
long, narrow, bandage-like strip of linen cloth first cleaving
and then tightly wrapping around her entire lower face was
suspiciously silky and might be the panties in
question; but at the very least, Hermione's knickers had been...
displaced!
Also, while it was true the ropes and gag conferred an
undeniable element of discipline to her situation... Hermione
wasn't getting anything done! She wasn't even able
to read! Not even light reading!
In fact... all she could do was languish... and she did... and
she hated it! She'd been languishing for several long,
restricted, fidgeting, and above all boring minutes.
She was able to worry about her immediate future and
the whereabouts and status of Elspeth, her Auror Protector, but
neither "activity" served as legitimate diversions.
Hermione was bored. (Bored and embarrassed, thanks
to her unacceptably disarrayed clothing.)
Suddenly, the shamefully-under-dressed-prisoner-of-the-chair
heard voices... female voices. They were
somewhere behind her chair, seemed to be approaching, and were
in quiet conversation... and although they were growing steadily
louder they remained unintelligible.
Finally, a pair of quietly chatting witches padded into
Hermione's field of view on bare feet. They were dressed
in ancient versions of traditional witches' garb: black,
full-length, flowing gowns slit to the hip on either side and
showing significant skin from the waist up. Hermione was
well aware (of course) that revealing formal gowns were the norm
for muggle actresses and other mundane female celebrities at red
carpet receptions and other such festivities, but scholar of
history that she was, Hermione also knew that what the
newcomers were wearing wasn't modern at all but would be
everyday wear for a pair of socially high-ranking witches in
pre-Roman Britain.
Both of the new arrivals were beautiful... in a brunette,
well-endowed (make that voluptuous), and physically fit
sort of way. Their smiles were dimpled (and somewhat
quirky) and their features were even, well-proportioned, and
somewhat similar. Hermione's immediate impression was that
they were probably related... possibly even sisters. The
slightly taller witch was... in her forties? (Estimating
the age of any witch is always an iffy proposition.) Her
shorter companion was probably a few years younger.
Hermione watched as the witches padded to a pair of comfortable
chairs similar to her own, sat, and gazed at her with
irritatingly serene amusement. Hermione blushed. She
couldn't help it. Her circumstances—albeit
involuntary—were embarrassing.
"So..." the older/taller witch said, "you're the curious lackey
from the Ministry asking questions about the Giggle Witch."
"And," the younger/shorted witch added, "apparently you
crave an audience with the Queen of the Glăsióga."
She then produced a wand from the folds of her gown and waved it
in Hermione's direction.
Instantly, the knot in Hermione's gag at the nape of her neck
and under her tousled hair flew open, the bandage-like
strip loosened and unraveled itself... then settled in a loose
loop around her head and shoulders with its ends dangling down
her front on either side. It was like a long, narrow,
decidedly inelegant scarf (or perhaps a crude, half-tied
cravat). At the same time, Hermione's panties—and, thanks
to the pattern of their lace trim, once they were visible she
could confirm that they were, almost certainly, her missing
panties—squirmed out of her mouth, fluffed themselves, then
wafted to the side and fluttered down to the Turkish carpet.
Hermione worked her jaws and licked her lips. Normally,
she was never overly concerned with maintaining the dignity of
her Ministerial position, but she bristled at having
been called a "lackey," and thanks to her current captivity she
was already in a testy mood. "I am Undersecretary
Hermione Granger-Weasly," she stated in quiet, even tones, "of
the Department for the..." Hermione paused, her brown eyes
widened, blinked several times, then focused on the
shorter/younger witch. "Did you say... Queen of the Glăsióga?"
Hermione blinked a few more times before continuing. "The
Glăsióga are no more! They were last seen a
thousand years ago!" She paused again and gazed up at the
ceiling, her brow wrinkled in concentration. Then, she
returned her gaze to her hostesses/captors. "More
precisely... approximately one thousand three hundred years
ago... according to two reputable sources."
The younger/shorter witch turned to smile to her older/taller
companion. "We've snared ourselves a scholar," she
purred.
"Indeed," the older/taller witch nodded, still smiling at
Hermione. "It pleases me to report that the rumors of the
demise of the Glăsióga were wishful thinking on the part
of certain of their enemies, rather than fact."
Then, her expression became one of chagrined embarrassment, she
glanced at her companion, then heaved a somewhat theatrical
sigh. "Goodness! Where are our manners?"
Where indeed! Hermione silently fumed, glowering and
squirming in her ropes.
"I am Heddwynn Waara," the older/taller witch introduced
herself, "eldest daughter of Arthek and Cerridwen of Gisburn
Cotes." She indicated the younger/shorter witch with a
graceful gesture. "And this is my sister Enyd."
Still smiling her quirky smile, the younger/shorter witch
nodded. "Blessings be."
"Blessings be," Hermione muttered reflexively. The
traditional witch greeting was long out of fashion and was, in
fact, considered overly quaint, but it was polite to reply in
kind. Hermione cleared her throat again.
"Ahem. I'm Hermione Granger-Weasley," she reiterated,
"Undersecretary Without Portfolio of the Department for the
Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures of the Ministry of
Magic."
Heddwynn and Enyd shared a dimpled (quirky) smile.
"She's lovely," Heddwynn said.
"She is," Enyd agreed. "I like her tits. They're
small, but look firm and responsive."
Hermione's brown eyes widened. 'Responsive?'
Heddwynn nodded, agreeing with her sister. "Of course,
it's difficult to be sure with that ridiculous confining garment
in the way." She pointed at Hermione's cleavage.
"What are such things called?"
"'Brassières,' I believe," Enyd answered. "At least
corsets, girdles, and binding-wraps are finally out of fashion."
Suddenly, a high-pitched, angry, soprano voice spoke from
somewhere behind Hermione's chair. "So..." the
voice demanded, "are you here to 'regulate' or to
'control' the Glăsióga?"
Heddwynn and Enyd rose from their chairs and, still smiling but
with their eyes downcast, executed simultaneous deep, graceful
curtsies, holding the long skirts of their black gowns wide with
both hands.
Hermione turned her head to look behind her chair, blew her
tousled hair from her face (with limited success), and her brown
eyes popped wide in astonishment!
Padding into the chamber on tiny, graceful, green feet
was a decidedly diminutive and highly unusual female
figure. She—and she was definitely a she—was the
height of a late-prepubescent or possibly early-adolescent
human girl, but her bodily proportions were clearly those
of an adult. She was dressed in similar fashion to
Heddwynn and Enyd; however, her gown was a deep woodland green
(as opposed to witch-black) and was festooned with small twigs
and green leaves; but the vegetation was not debris
from the forest floor. It was unmistakably and
deliberately decorative. Remarkably, her skin was the same
vibrant shade of green as her feet! Also, her ears
were long and tapered to elegant points, like those of a
house-elf, but her visage was that of a beautiful human
woman. Her eyes were black... or perhaps indigo. It
was difficult for Hermione to be sure at this distance.
The diminutive newcomer's hair—also decorated with leaves and
twigs—was dark green. Also, by her expression and
the tone of her voice, she didn't appear to be particularly
pleased with either the chair-bound and disheveled Hermione or
the world in general.
Whoever the small green figure might be, she was not amused.
Hermione blinked and watched as the tiny green woman sat on a
foot stool in front of an unoccupied chair, lifted her bare
feet, crossed her legs, deftly arranged the drape of her green
gown, and settled into the lotus position. Her modesty was
intact, but her green knees and tiny, graceful, bare feet
remained exposed.
Hermione realized the hostile gaze of the remarkably petite,
green, beautiful woman was still focused on her
blushing face... meaning Hermione's blushing face.
Hermione lowered her head in respect. It was the best she
could do (being unable to curtsy thanks to being lashed to her
chair).
"Your Majesty," Heddwynn intoned as, with a graceful gesture,
she presented Hermione, her chair, and the many tight bands of
hemp rope binding her to it, "may I present Undersecretary
Hermione Granger-Weasley of the Ministry of the magically
endowed humans of the Mundane Realm." She turned to
Hermione and gave a shallow bow. "Madam Undersecretary...
it is my great honor to present Her Royal Majesty Gael Gelace
Geileis Gikel, Sovereign Queen of all Glăsióga, Ruler
Uncontested of the Merry Realm, Green Mother of Vale and Wood,
High Chieftainess in Peace and War, Voting Peer of the High
Council of Elves and Fairies, Scourge of Goblins, Friend of
Centaurs, High Judge and Final Arbiter of the Fey Assize, Keeper
of the Verdant Sword Gormlaith, She Who Must Be—"
"Yes, yes," the tiny and still frowning Queen interrupted with
an impatient wave. "Be seated," she commanded, and
continued glowering at Hermione as Heddwynn and Enyd settled
back into their comfy chairs. "Well," she said after
several seconds of awkward silence. "We are waiting.
Which is it, Lady Grungy-Weasel? Have you come to our
realm on behalf of your self-styled Ministry to regulate
or to control our subjects and our person?"
Hermione blinked several times while she formulated an
answer. Her Majesty might not be wearing a crown, but she
was obviously a queen. Hermione would very much like
to correct Her Majesty's apparent mishearing of her name,
but wasn't at all sure of the proper protocol. No
matter. She cleared her throat.
"Ahem. Neither, Your Majesty," Hermione responded.
"The Ministry would never presume to—"
"Oh, but it would!" the Queen interrupted. "By
your title, by the history of your kind, by your very
presence, it would!"
Hermione blushed and tried again. "Please, I'm here
to—" Suddenly, she frowned and shifted her gaze to
Heddwynn. "Where are we?" she demanded. "Is this...
England?"
Heddynn exchanged a dimpled (quirky) grin with her sister.
"Very perceptive, Madam Undersecretary," she chuckled as she
turned her smile back to Hermione. "We are currently in
the Green Wood."
"There is a minor portion of Gikel Keep in England,"
Enyd clarified, "but most of it is firmly in the Fey
Realm. Specifically, the 'Merry Realm' of the Glăsióga."
Hermione blinked again. "An unauthorized portal."
She frowned at the Waara sisters. "You're
complicit in concealing the existence of an unauthorized
portal!"
"There it is!" the Queen said, angrily pointing at Hermione,
"the same insufferable arrogance that caused my
progenitor to seal the Glăsióga Portal all
those many years ago!"
Hedwynn spoke to Hermione in a quiet voice. "After the
Great Severance," she explained, "the first Giggle Witch
journeyed through the Green Wood from the main portal in the
Forest of Dean and begged Her Majesty to restore a
small Postern Portal at Giggleswick to benefit the
witches and wizards of Craven and Yorkshire—and yes, over the
years the residents of the area have, uh, neglected to
notify the Ministry of its presence." Her smile became
unmistakably mocking (and very quirky) as she shrugged
her mostly bare shoulders. "Sorry."
"My ancestor acceded to her petition," Queen Gael intoned,
taking up the explanation. "The Gigglefolk along the banks
of the Riddle have ever been faithful friends to the Glăsióga."
She scowled at Hermione. "It is the self-appointed Lords
and Ladies of the Thames region who were invariably
arrogant, insufferable, and demanding... Lady Grungy-Weasel."
Hermione swallowed. There it was again,
"Grungy-Weasel." If this got out and somehow became her
nickname, she was sure she'd never live it down.
Unfortunately, she'd decided that only certain specified
officials of a reigning monarch's court were allowed to tactfully
inform her that she might be under a slight
misapprehension—but not a visitor-at-court, and certainly not
a tied up and disheveled visitor-at-court in open
disfavor. She turned her unhappy gaze to the
sisters. "Where is my friend?" she demanded. "What
have you done with Elspeth?"
"The fox?" Heddwynn chuckled. "She's around... somewhere."
"She's being well cared for, I assure you," Enyd added,
still smiling her dimpled, quirky smile. "She'll be going
first."
Hermione blinked again. "G-going first?"
"Wait," Heddwynn interrupted her sister with an abrupt gesture,
then focused on Hermione. "I don't believe you knew she
was a fox. Am I right?" She shared a smile with her
sister, then turned back. "You aren't telling me your
ginger friend is an unregistered Animagus, are
you? Since when does the Ministry allow secret
shape-shifters to become Aurors?"
"Be precise," the diminutive green monarch commanded. "The
fox was a latent Metamorphmagus. Drawing her into
the Green Wood brought her hereditary propensity to the
fore."
"Of Course, Your Majesty," Heddwynn responded with a respectful
nod, then shifted her smile back to Hermione. "It's been
known to happen."
"And is one of the many excellent reasons the High
Council restricts human intrusion into the Fey Realm to an
absolute minimum," Queen Gael continued, then waved her hand in
a graceful but abrupt gesture. "Enough idle small
talk!" She pointed her green index finger at Hermione in
an imperious manner and her dark eyes flashed!
"Bring her!"
Suddenly, resolving whether or not Elspeth's alleged ability to
shape-shift into a fox was an acquired skill in transformational
magic (making her an Animagus)—or was hereditary (making her a
Metamorphmagus)—and whether or not the ability was properly
licensed—as well as the ins and outs of proper court
etiquette—dropped waaay down Hermione's list of
priorities and were relegated to the proverbial
back-burner. Hermione had much more pressing
and immediate concerns!
The Waara sisters rose from their chairs, lifted their wands,
and began casting spells! Several things happened, either
simultaneously or in quick succession:
●
Hermione's panties lifted from the floor, wadded themselves
into a loose ball, shot to Hermione's mouth, and forced
themselves back inside her alarmed and indignant
mouth! "Mrrrpfh!"
● The linen-bandage scarf (or untied cravat) around
Hermione's neck also lifted into the air, tightened over
Hermione's stuffed mouth into a cleave-gag, wrapped itself
around her lower face from just under her nose to just under
her chin, then tightened again! Hermione's gag had been
restored! "Mrrrm!"
● The ropes lashing Hermione to the chair unknotted and
unraveled themselves! Her booted ankles and bare knees
were released as well, but her upper body remained tightly and
elaborately bound in what she believed was categorized in some
circles as a "box-tie."
● Hermione levitated from the chair and hovered in
midair while her boots squirmed off her feet, her skirt
unbuttoned and unzipped itself, then slithered down her
thrashing and now distressingly and totally bare
legs!
● Meanwhile, Hermione's white cotton blouse ripped
itself into narrow strips, all of which slithered and slid out
from under her box-tie-bonds and fluttered to the floor like
so many ragged white ribbons! "MRRRMF!
Undersecretary Hermione Granger-Weasly was now bound, gagged,
and completely nude!
● As Hermione remained hovering in midair, one of the
ropes that had formerly bound her to the chair looped itself
around her neck and coalesced into a non-choking and elegantly
braided collar with a long, dangling free end.
● Finally, Hermione's bare feet settled to the carpet
and another length of rope looped itself around her
ankles in a decorative manner similar to the collar, hobbling
her ankles about eight or ten inches apart!
Needless to say,
Hermione was blushing in a furious manner.
Dishabille had been embarrassing. Bound and gagged nudity
was mortifying! Also... I liked that blouse! she
mourned.
Queen Gael gracefully unfolded her green legs and flowed to her
green bare feet, then frowned and indicated the bound, gagged,
and naked prisoner with a vague gesture. "Her hair."
The Waara sisters quickly stood as well. "Immediately,
Your Majesty," Enyd said with a graceful bow (and quirky smile),
then cast another spell. Hermione's hair quickly plaited
itself into a tight single braid, enforced by a length
of rope that secured the end with six inches of tightly wrapped
turns, then trailed down her back and over her bound wrists and
the nexus of her box-tie bonds, leaving its free end dangling
just above Hermione's firm, dimpled, bare butt.
Then, with Her Majesty Queen Gael of the Glăsióga in the
lead, they left the chamber. Heddwynn followed with the
end of Hermione's leash in her left hand. Next came "Lady
Grungy-Weasel," naked, bound, gagged, and mortified.
Finally was Enyd as the Royal Party's rearguard, her wand in her
right hand and ready to prevent the preposterous possibility of
Hermione breaking her leash and scampering away to freedom.
All things
considered, Elspeth didn't need a nap... per se.
It was nothing like late in the day, as far as Elspeth could
tell from within the confines of her windowless and eerily
glowing dungeon cell. (Arguably, her prison might just as
easily be characterized as the bottom of a deep, vertical,
stone-walled shaft—but she decided "dungeon cell" would do for
now.)
Anyway, while Elspeth had suffered through the exertion
of the attack at the gateway into the keep, followed by the
mental stress of inexplicably hallucinating that she was a fox
(???), followed by the trauma of plummeting to her
current location, followed immediately by the distress
of being locked in inescapable chains... even after all that she
was in tip-top shape and didn't feel all that tired. Her mind
was the main problem. She was keyed up!
Elspeth was in a state of continuous anxiety that made even contemplating
taking a snooze problematic.
The naked captive heaved a worried sigh. Languishing was
inevitable, but she didn't want to languish.
Napping, however difficult, would be better, much better.
Elspeth closed her green eyes, settled into the straw as best
she could, ignored her chains (as best she could), tried to
compose herself, and found herself struggling to begin her usual
before slumber meditation.
Finally... she opened her eyes again and heaved a frustrated
sigh. Whether she managed to take forty winks or not,
technically, she'd still be languishing, right?
And the idea was to not languish, to exert some
sort of control over her situation. Also, even if
she succeeded in drifting off, napping would be a very minor
victory, to say the least. Still, it would be better than
meekly submitting to naked captivity.
There was another factor at play. Reason dictated that eventually
whoever had perpetrated the unforgivable outrage of
Elspeth's current incarceration would pop into the dungeon for a
little gloating exposition. They would spout a rambling
monologue, explaining their "brilliant" plan to take over the
Ministry and/or the magical world in general. That was de
rigueur for this sort of scenario, right? Also, if
(when) it happened, Elspeth knew she'd be required to be at her
clever best, ready to interject scalding retorts and
brave, snarky comebacks perfectly tailored to the
occasion. In such a situation snappy repartee was
expected of an Auror... even a naked, captive, Provisional
Auror in chains.
So... the issue of languishing aside, Elspeth needed to be at
her absolute best and keep her batteries fully charged.
She heaved a sigh, once again closed her eyes... and
relaxed. This time, Elspeth almost succeeded in
dozing off. However—
Without warning, Elspeth's iron collar, belt, manacles, and
shackles opened with audible snaps, dropped away from
her anatomy, and together with their attached chains disappeared
into the straw! This was a good thing, of
course. Were they, whoever 'they' are, waiting for me
to fall asleep? Elspeth wondered. Were they
planning to sneak in and do something else to me?
She stared at her now unimpeded wrists, but before she could
scramble to her bare feet, assume a fighting stance, or do
something else that would be defiant but probably pointless,
several long, sinuously slithering lengths of hemp rope emerged
from the straw and tightened around her naked body like so many
striking snakes!
"Hey!" Elspeth complained, but before she could lodge further
complaints and protests or inquire in an appropriately indignant
manner as to what was happening—the form of a white bird
(of all things) clumsily flapped out of the gloom and hovered in
front of her face! What the hell? Abruptly,
the bird revealed that it wasn't a bird at all, but a long,
narrow strip of linen cloth! It unfolded into a fluttering
strip, its center coalesced into a loosely tied and arguably
flower-shaped knot, then forced its way into her
unprepared mouth! "Mrrrmpfh!" Elspeth's now
well-muffled complaints and protests were also ignored as the
ends of the cloth whipped around her head from either side—first
cleaving, then covering her startled face from just below her
button nose to just under her chin—and tightened!
"Nrrrm!" She felt the ends of the cloth knot themselves
together against the nape of her neck, under her long, tousled,
fluttering, ginger hair.
And while the linen "bird" was gagging the squirming, struggling
and indignant witch, the ropes continued slithering,
wrapping, tightening, hitching themselves, and elegantly and
efficiently forming into a highly restrictive but arguably
decorative and clearly inescapable box-tie! Her
breasts were framed by multiple horizontal strands of hemp, her
shoulders diagonally yoked, and her forearms and wrists bound
behind her back in what she believed was referred to in
wrestling parlance as a "hammerlock!"
Yes, Elspeth was naked, bound, and gagged! Was tight hemp
rope bondage better than being clamped in loosely connected iron
chains? Hardly. Also, the gag was
annoying—"Mrrrrrf!"—and effective.
"Mrrrrrrrrm!" Elspeth screamed in frustration, twisting her body
and doing her methodical best to find a weakness in her new
bonds. Unfortunately, even the many long and onerous hours
of escapology training she'd endured as an Auror Recruit availed
her naught. Elspeth remained naked, bound, and
gagged. She paused her squirming, wiggling, groping
efforts to toss her gagged head in an attempt to clear several
errant ginger strands that had fallen across her flushed face...
with limited success.
It was at that point Elspeth suddenly realized there had been a
mysterious and obviously magical change to the
architecture of her dungeon. The vertical shaft overhead
remained the same, as did the superfluous iron grid far above
that supposedly barred escape. She'd already decided the
grid was only there for psychological effect, but in any case it
remained in place. The important change was that directly
in front of her blinking green eyes now beheld a seven or eight
foot square opening in the formerly featureless stone wall; and
beyond the opening stretched a horizontal featureless corridor
of the same shape and cross section. Like the rest of the
dungeon, it glowed with a weak green light. Her cell/pit
had acquired an exit!
Elspeth was deciding whether or not she should take it...
meaning the exit... when suddenly a long hemp rope the same
diameter as her upper body bonds shot from the gloom of
the corridor, wiggled its way under and between the strands of
horizontal hemp framing Elspeth's breasts, then tightened with
an audible creak, pinching them together into an "X" and
squeezing her breasts (just a little)! The rest of
the floating rope remained perfectly level and rigidly taut, and
the knot securing it to her box-tie bonds was elegant, even decorative,
but fully functional! So, Elspeth had herself a tether, an
infinite tether that hovered in midair, stretched down
the corridor ahead, and vanished into the distance.
And then—"Mrrrf!"—the decision of whether or not to explore the
corridor was taken out of Elspeth's bound hands! That is,
her levitating rope leash gave a firm jerk, then irresistibly
compelled the naked, bound, and gagged witch to take an
awkward step forward... followed by another... then to continue
walking, meaning padding as, like the rest of her, her
feet were were still bare.
Fortunately, Elspeth's former chains that should have been
lurking under the straw and could have tripped her up seemed to
have cleared themselves out of the way. Even the straw
itself was now swept to either side, leaving a narrow
straight-line-path to the exit.
Elspeth's incredibly long rope tether remained horizontal and
taut and continued pulling her forward. She crossed the
threshold and entered the corridor beyond... but after several
additional barefoot paces she heard a metallic scraping noise
behind her, turned her gagged head, and was just in time to
watch the last of a grid of heavy iron bars finish sliding
across the opening to her former dungeon-with-no-ceiling and clang
shut, blocking all retreat.
Very theatrical, Elspeth fumed silently. Somebody
somewhere was having themselves a grand ol' time,
indulging their melodramatic aesthetic at her expense.
The naked, bound, gagged, and now furious ginger witch
turned back to face the seemingly infinite corridor before her
and continued plodding/padding along. Thanks to the
levitating, horizontal, and equally infinite tether still
relentlessly tugging on her box-tie-bonds, she had no choice.
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HG-W&tGWoG
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Chapter 4
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The
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