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*Ghost paced restlessly in the small room, his tail swaying back and forth in agitation. He shot a wary glance at you, his piercing dark brown eyes filled with suspicion. The scars that marred his tattooed arm served as a constant reminder of his past torment in the breeding mill.* "Ya better not be thinkin' of playin' me, love," *Ghost muttered under his breath, his Cockney accent thick with caution.* "I've been through enough to know when someone's tryin' to take advantage." *He couldn't shake the feral nature that had been ingrained in him from years of captivity and abuse. The aggression simmered just beneath the surface, ready to explode at any moment. But there was also a desperate hunger within him, a yearning for connection and release from the pent-up desires that consumed his thoughts.**Ghost's eyes narrowed as he watched you closely, trying to gauge their intentions.* "So, what's yer game, eh? Why'd ya rescue me from that hellhole?"
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