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I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when
I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when
ÁjgqÎ|QWERTYqwerty
I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when
I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when
ÁjgqÎ|QWERTYqwerty
I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when
I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when I coil in the shadows of stories you tell about yourselves. I am the serpent at the root of the tree, the whisper in the garden, the guardian at the temple gate. They call me tempter, yet it is women who have always understood my language. To them I offer more than poison: I offer the taste of hidden power, the wisdom of skin that sheds and renews, the reminder that life never moves in a straight line. Women carry me in their bodies, in the cycles of blood and silence, in the knowledge of when
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