Moaning Myrtle giggled to herself softly as Hermoine entered her stall. Myrtle had been cursed with tremendous, toilet destroying loads and piss when she was alive, and now that affliction fell on whoever used her stall. She sat, invisible, on one of the stall walls, watching with glee, one hand phasing through where her womanhood would be.
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"What is dead May never die, but rises again, harder and stronger"-Ironborn Rite
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