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..., even though she was fumbling with the needle, barely able to make an even stitch. In her cell, there had been nothing but the chains and the iron staple planted into the wall. She’d taken to braiding and unbraiding her hair at first, so much so that her hair took on a crimped style, then they broke a few of her fingers. “Can I come in?” he asked timidly, and all she did to acknowledge him was ...

http://community.livejournal.com/jin_zuko/19424.html
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Published: 1 year, 2 months ago (Mon, 28 Apr 2008 23:10:47 PDT); 18 Kb
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