the last daughter of the shadow-grin
female | eight | 38 inches | 100 pounds | no heart | no soul | gypsy loner
He breaks into the space around her, invading further than would normally be appropriate, and a thrill in her core tells her that it is something more than passing interest she has taken in his company. Even having whisked herself away and eluded him, being caught was equally as invigorating.
She doesn’t mind the drooling, the unusually locked stare. She doesn’t mind the nips and bites and threats - many of them she could avoid if she truly wished.
“I am in need of other things…” He had implied, but she chooses not to address it, to give him fuel for that fire. Instead, she lets him speak with his body, ramming himself into her so that she has to skid two hops before she can brace against the force enough that he can then bury his face into her fur.
Her snarl in the moment had enough force to remind him that she had not been afraid to bite, to trade him blows, but without the true savagery that was required for a real threat. No, just a reminder. And then a low and throaty humph as she buries her nose back into his fur as well. She doesn’t need to scent him in order to find anything, or anyone, she does not possess what isn’t hers. And unless he could bring her heat on out of season, there was nothing to claim.
“Where do you go when you leave me?”
“Hither and yon, anywhere the wind dares send me, anywhere the whims of my paws guide me. Many places and many ways.” Her voice is nonchalant and in itself it taunts him in his possessiveness.
“But what does a ghoul care where a gypsy wanders?”
