They keep coming: small men with their small desires. They hunger for my gold; they scrabble through my table leavings. They foul the air with their scent.
Here comes another, hand over hand to steal my solitude. Let me ready my plate.
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Christine Hanolsy 
Sympathetic but still appropriately creepy!
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Oh, I loved this! The title helped centre me into which fairy tale this was, but the rest of the piece showed it perfectly too!
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