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*ahem* a slightly dusty cough, edged with a strange scraping sound intrudes on the tart's hearing. As she whips round, her hand going automatically back to the blade, her jaw drops. Empty sockets beaming with earnest curiosity, stare up at her from a disembodied skull, floating in the air at a little below shoulder height.
"Whatcha doooin?" asks the skull, in a little sing-song voice, made only slightly less harmonic by the gravelled scrape and clatter of bone.
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