the last daughter of the shadow-grin
female | eight | 38 inches | 100 pounds | no heart | no soul | gypsy loner
She toys and does so out of boredom in the face of so few struggles experienced in her recent days. There is nothing more potent than adrenaline and nothing so charged as her stalker. He does not answer her query, though, and so she does not finish answering his - always she must play to the top of the metaphorical mountain. Always she will be her own last word.
At least he knew her well enough to guess that it would not affect her.
“Do not run from me again..” His voice commands, but as ever, she does not respond to the demand so much as the words.
“I have run from nothing, so I cannot run from you again.” Her voice is placid and mild, but the touch at the edges does allude to intentional puckish rebellion.
His bite to her shoulder, though, recieves a fast and furious clamping of her own teeth across the top of his. She even shakes her head as she clamps, not caring that the pain of his bite increases with the pressure applied from her own. He would release or he would ruin his pretty self-claimed prize. She would heal either way, in her own opinion.
When he does release, she yet follows after him with a couple snaps before shaking and seating herself again.
“You have no trove to hide your treasures, no place to make me stay. Why not roam when there is no home to keep me still? I am a gypsy and can be none other than what I am. Chase me, but do not complain to me that your royal brow holds no crown and your royal feet stand on wild earth.”
A challenge. A challenge for him to provide her with shackles, if he wanted her to remain anywhere for longer than a few moments.
