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He closed his eyes and took in Ciel’s scent, tainted by fear. He listened intently to the boy’s gasping words, a pleased purr in his gut as he took the rosary and wrapped it around his hand, the Lord’s cross flat in his palm. “Confess,” he whispered. “And count the strikes of your penance.”
“How… how many?” Ciel asked, quietly.
“However many I deem necessary."