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Run. She was running. She could still hear it. The rocks littered on the ground cut her feet and legs. She could have been walking on broken glass. Sand entered the fresh wounds. It burned like salt. Seawater burned her eyes. Her hair was a giant nest of tangles. Her dress was being torn apart. But it didn't matter. It was better than what was coming for her. She could still hear it. Closer. She ran harder. It was like running on a bed of knives. The sand stung like wasps. She may be leaving a massive blood trail. She didn't turn to check. She could still hear it. Clink, clink, clink
. Scraping. Scratching. Clinking. Chains. Blood. The knife. The
. Run. Faster. The pain woke her. Kept her in reality. She had to run faster. Her muscles burned like a cold fire. Legs, arms, back. Her back. It ha