Today's OneWord: Cyclical

It was a cyclical kind of relationship. The kind in which bruises became tattoos, of spider webs specifically, branching out into brand new spindles of aggression and fear. The kind in which the color of the iris was not noted, but the ring of black surrounding it. The kind in which, if enough amber was imbibed, the flurry of fists would become blurred, and if it couldn't be remembered that someone was assaulted, well, did it really happen, then?

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