RADHA why did love put a gun in my hand?
she is wandering the commons like a lost soul. a ghost, a shell of her former self. each bit of her is ragged, haphazardly held together by sheer will and a restless spirit. but that fragility is broken, shattered, at the calloused touch of a man's teeth on her skin. his gaze feels like knives. hungry. hateful. full of a stubbornness she couldn't name.
"haven't you ever heard of manners?" she would have spat the words at him, if she were not rearing her head back to aim the same courtesy on his own flesh; her lips peeling back to try and scrape against ivory of his neck with the same wolfish smile on her lips that mirrored his. he could think that he would win her by tooth and nail, but she had claws of her own. she would never hesitate to use them. "now, why don't you be nice and tell me your name first."
"SPEECH"
the girl of nowhere
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