Blackfeather Woods Where good girls go to die

snap.

his words were like clashing fangs on the fragile thing that was her sanity, and as she begun to laugh, fast and painfully and hysterically, he pulled back in the slightest, feeling an odd twinge as he realized then what he could do with words, placed as if they were weapons.

her words came fast, repetitive and ringing with madness, and he did not move when she slunk near, knowing that at the slightest sign of violence from her, his brother, as would he, have no qualms over setting into her with flashing fangs. but not yet-he still wanted to see what careful words could do.

his head tilted as he beheld her, the way a cat would a mouse-part of his facade, yet very well presented. "he watches you." he informed her almost boredly, curiosity at how this weapon would land. "When we leave, he will come visit." He told her with a wicked grin. ideas swirled through his mind of what his words could accomplish, coupled with his brothers feirce fangs and anger. he looked to his brother then, and his wicked grin still planted on his muzzle, wondering if his brother found this just as interesting as he did. soon, he suspected, the woman would snap, and words would turn to fangs.